


A Collection of One-Off Marvel Drabbles

by house_of_lantis



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, M/M, More added as the stories/chapters continue, Multi, Special Guest Stars Include Phil Coulson, clint barton - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 04:08:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 44,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3922327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/house_of_lantis/pseuds/house_of_lantis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-off Stucky ficlets; adding in new Stony drabbles; maybe some Steve/Bucky/Tony threesomes; more different pairings; scenes and situations that I don't have enough to actually call a "fic" or even a "WIP." I think they could be tagged as mostly little self-contained stories. </p><p>On Tumblr, I'm theserpentgirl </p><p>These will be mainly Steve/Bucky pairings. They may change if I start writing other pairings/ratings/warnings. Keep an eye on the chapter notes for things that may trigger you. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Step-Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Steve/Bucky
> 
> Summary: (High School AU, both are seniors) Steve and Bucky are new step-brothers, adjusting to life together. They're not really doing a good job.
> 
> Warnings: Step-sibling sex; Dub-con wrestling leading to sex; hand job; Bucky being an asshole and saying horrible, insulting things to Steve.

“Change the channel; I want to watch the game.”

 

Steve kept his grip on the remote and didn’t even look up at Bucky. “I’m watching something, go upstairs.”

 

Bucky glared at Steve’s head. He hated being ignored by Steve; and he knew Steve did it on purpose because it bugged the hell out of Bucky.

 

“I want to watch it on the big screen. You go upstairs. What the hell are you watching anyway? Some boring old history documentary? What is that? Nazis? Don’t you get enough of this shit at school?”

 

Steve didn’t say anything. Bucky frowned, reaching across Steve’s lap for the remote.

 

“Give it to me.”

 

“No. I was here first.”

 

Bucky made a move to reach for it again, but Steve held his arm out as far away as he could from Bucky.

 

“Don’t fuck with me, Rogers.”

 

“I wish you’d be quiet if you’re going to stay in the room.”

 

“Listen, you’re nothing but a temporary squatter here. Our parents might be married now, but give it year, I’m sure they’ll be filing for divorce,” Bucky said, sneering at him. A part of him actually enjoyed seeing the flinch that moved across Steve’s face. “So that makes it _my_ house, which means that everything in it belongs to me.”

 

“As you rightly pointed out, our parents are married now, which means that, right now, half of everything belongs to me as well.”

 

Bucky lunged across Steve’s lap, grabbing a handful of Steve’s tee-shirt, hearing the seams rip as he tugged Steve down, his other hand going for the remote.

 

Steve made an angry noise, his knee gouging against Bucky’s hip, trying to keep him away from the remote. They both scrambled on the couch cushions, playing a mean and dirty game of keep-away. Steve had the advantage of long arms and a longer reach, but Bucky wasn’t the two-time national wrestling champion for nothing. He wrapped his arms and legs around Steve and rolled them both off the couch to the thick carpet below.

 

“Cut it out, you jerk!”

 

“Make me, punk.”

 

He turned them around so that he had Steve pinned to the floor, knees pressing in tight against Steve’s hips, one hand squeezing Steve’s wrist against the carpet. He looked down to see Steve’s blue eyes flashing with fury, his cheeks flushed a deep red, teeth clenched together, spit on his bottom lip.

 

“Guess I’m on top, Rogers.”

 

Bucky didn’t deny that Steve was a pretty boy. He met Steve’s angry eyes and jabbed Steve hard in the ribs, forcing an involuntary jerk of his other arm, bringing it down to protect his side. Bucky snatched the remote out of his hand and sat back on Steve, smiling down at him in victory.

 

“Fine, you win! Get off me! Asshole,” Steve said, his free hand pushing against Bucky’s shoulder.

 

Bucky laughed, setting the remote on the coffee table. He grabbed Steve’s other wrist and leaned his weight down on both of them, pinning Steve down nicely. Bucky was self-aware enough to know that he did like winning; he was thoroughly competitive and excelled at everything from sports to academics. He was also self-aware enough to know that he had a dark streak inside of him, something that made him enjoy seeing Steve Rogers pinned down under him. That even though Steve was probably strong enough to push Bucky off of him, he’d never use his strength against Bucky. It made him wonder how far he’d have to push Steve to see him break.  

 

“What’re you going to do now, Rogers?”

 

“I didn’t know you were such a damn bully!”

 

Bucky made a face, hands squeezing Steve’s wrists in warning. They stared at each other for a long moment – Steve’s brilliant blue eyes unwavering as he glared up at Bucky, chin jutting out in pride. Bucky let go slowly, scratching his nails down Steve’s bared arms, sitting back again.

 

“Fuck you, Rogers, I’m no bully.”

 

“No? Then what the hell is this?”

 

“I wasn’t going to hurt you, punk,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “And if you would’ve just given me the remote when I asked, I wouldn’t have had to resort to more persuasive efforts.”

 

“ _Persuasive_ —get off me, Bucky!” Steve sputtered, indignantly. He started wriggling around and Bucky chuckled, keeping his knees in tight and holding on.

 

He slid back into Steve’s lap and watched as Steve inhaled sharply, stopping all together. Bucky pressed his ass down and smiled when he felt Steve hard under him. Bucky’s eyes widened as he gazed down at Steve, mouth tilting into a wide, knowing smirk.

 

“Really?” He teased, chuckling softly. “That get you hot, Steve?”

 

“Shut up. Just get off me.”

 

“Jesus, punk, what the hell are you packing under your khakis,” he said, tracing the length of Steve’s cock with his ass. “Pussy buster. No wonder all those girls and boys are always following you around.”

 

“Shut your dirty mouth,” Steve said, blushing. “Don’t—that’s an awful thing to say.”

 

“You think that’s dirty?” He barked out a laugh. “Well, someone’s gotta give you something to confess on Sunday. You can talk about your big dick to Father Thomas and say ten Hail Mary’s for every girl pussy and boy cunt you bust in the city—“

 

“Ohmygod, just stop, please.”

 

Bucky grinned, sucking in his bottom lip as he stared down at Steve’s mortified expression. He wouldn’t meet Bucky’s eyes, face turned slightly. Bucky was a total bastard and hard pressed to let something this wonderfully humiliating go. He slid back and forth against Steve’s cock, riding him quick and merciless. He loved the way that Steve closed his eyes, gritting his teeth to hold back the pleasure. Bucky wanted to hear Steve lose it; wanted to hear Steve moan and beg for Bucky to finish him off.

 

“How long has it been, huh? Your girl’s back in London and I bet you’re not the type to cheat,” Bucky said, his voice low. “Bet you haven’t gotten a good fuck in weeks.”

 

“Don’t say that,” Steve said, his hands grabbing hold of Bucky’s hips, trying to push him off.

 

Bucky slapped Steve’s hands away and ground down on Steve’s cock. “You don’t really want me to stop, do you?”

 

Steve stared up at him. “I’m your step-brother—“

 

“Yeah, _step_ -brother, not blood,” Bucky said, leaning down to look at Steve’s face. “This is so fucking hot. I can’t believe we didn’t do this sooner.”

 

“We—we can’t do this,” Steve whispered, shakily.  

 

“Fuck, I’m so hard. You make me so fucking hard, Steve,” Bucky moaned, moving down to kiss Steve’s mouth, sucking on that fat bottom lip and licking into his mouth. He tasted like salt and butter from the popcorn, stale and earthy underneath. Bucky kept rubbing his ass against Steve’s cock until Steve grabbed hold of Bucky’s hips, pulling him down and turning them sideways, moaning into Bucky’s mouth.

 

He pulled away, looking at the wide-eyed look of surprise and embarrassment and lust on Steve’s pretty face. Both of them scrambled to get their pants opened and Bucky spit in the palm of his hand, grabbing both of their cocks, hips moving together as he stroked them both, pre-come and spit easing the way along their hot flesh.

 

Steve grabbed a handful of Bucky’s hair, his forehead pressed against Bucky’s chin, both panting deliriously as Bucky stroked them off.

 

“Close… _oh god_ Bucky, we can’t be doing this,” Steve whispered, clenching his teeth and holding back his whimpers. _“Please, please…”_  

 

“Yeah, yeah, _shhh_ …fuck, fuck, this is so fucking good.”

 

Bucky groaned, feeling his balls tighten, the rush of pleasure just a stroke or two away. He tightened his grip, working just the heads now, and closed his eyes when he felt Steve shudder against him, warm wetness spurting over his fingers. Bucky wasn’t that far behind, just two more strokes, and he let out a noisy moan, adding to the mess between them.


	2. Preview: The Court of the Winter Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: This is just a scene from my new Steve/Bucky fic, “The Court of the Winter Prince,” which is a Captain America/Constantine/Dresden Files crossover AU. Steve is a NYPD detective who gets recruited into SHIELD (located on neutral territory Staten Island) to become the new Warden of the city; the New York boroughs are divided by three vampire kingdoms – White Court (Manhattan) is ruled by Tony; Red Court (Bronx & Queens) is ruled by Natasha; and Black Court (Brooklyn) is ruled by Bucky. HYDRA (over in New Jersey) plays the villainous role of Necromancers who wants all of the vampire kingdoms for themselves.

Steve walked the three blocks from the F Train/York station, enjoying the cool evening breeze coming off the East River. The Barnes Gallery was located in the DUMBO neighborhood of Brooklyn, on the corner of Plymouth and Washington. It was a gorgeous red brick building with large windows, the Brooklyn Bridge right over it.

[ ](http://s769.photobucket.com/user/house_of_lantis/media/BARNES%20GALLERY.jpg.html)

He could see the lights on in the building, people mingling about inside. Music and cocktail chatter and laughter flowed over him as he opened the main doors to enter the gallery. The gallery seemed to be hosting a party and Steve watched as the people in front of him passed the woman standing at a table near the door their invitation.

“Good evening, sir, welcome to The Barnes Gallery. Do you have your invitation?”

“I’m afraid not,” he said, smiling apologetically.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small black billfold. He flipped it open to show her his NYPD identification and gold shield badge.

She peered at his ID card; keen eyes reading his name, Detective First Class rank, and badge number. Her smile remained professional as she nodded for him to put his ID away. “Are you here on business or just trying to crash the party?”

“I’m off-duty, but it is official business, ma’am. I’m Detective Steve Rogers. I’d like to speak to Mr James Barnes, if he could spare a few minutes for me.”

The woman looked up at him and then nodded, turning to look at the two security guards behind her. One of them left discreetly, probably to notify Barnes.

“Of course, Detective Rogers, anything for the NYPD. If you’d like to go upstairs to the party and mingle, I’ll make sure that Mr Barnes will come find you in a few minutes.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that,” he said, smiling at her.

Steve made his way upstairs, feeling a bit underdressed in his brown tweed jacket and khaki pants at a fashionable black tie gallery party. He thought maybe he should’ve come during the day in an official capacity, but he hadn’t wanted to wait until tomorrow to get a gander on why two recent homicide victims both had The Barnes Gallery business cards on their persons – it was the only link Steve had managed to uncover and he didn’t want to waste time waiting for official duty hours. He was an officer of the law; just because he wasn’t on duty didn’t mean that he’d ignore his duty to the law.

The gallery was a gorgeous space; the second floor was open and boasted what looked like 30-foot ceilings and a few thousand square feet of exhibition space. The building took over a whole corner block after all. He loved the industrial look, the open and exposed brick on the walls, the pipes and cement and steel girders along the ceiling above. The space must’ve been some kind of four-story factory in the past, but the above two floors were taken out to create such great white space.

Steve wasn’t an artist, but he appreciated art of all forms. He wanted to see what the space looked like during the day time, natural light filtering through all of the windows. He politely refused the champagne from the waiter and walked through the crowd of well-dressed New Yorkers to the tall white walls, spending a few minutes to look at each painting or sketch, as he made his way through the hall. He noticed that a few people stopped mid-conversation to turn and look at him; he felt oddly out-of-place by their very intense stares. But he took a deep breath, ignoring the way that the hairs on the back of his neck started rising.

The Barnes Gallery had a mixture of eclectic and contemporary pieces, interesting sculpture-work on black pedestals throughout the room. Steve smiled and nodded politely to the guests, making his way to an alcove off the main hall to a small set of gallery rooms. This was a much more intimate space and Steve breathed a little sigh of relief, glad to be away from the curious looks, and spend a little more time looking at the paintings.

He entered the last room in the maze-like alcove area and was really quite shocked and drawn to a painting at the other wall. It was a huge canvas, the size of it was nearly the whole wall, and the talent of the artist was indisputable. He or she had captured the face of a man who was beyond simply beautiful. It was done in black and white oils, but the eyes were a blue-gray and the full lips red. There was something hypnotic about the eyes, painted in a way that they seemed to follow him, no matter where he stood in the space.

Steve felt his neck heat up, a little embarrassed that he was turned on by a painting. He was glad that he was the only one in the room and he walked slowly towards the canvas to see the name of the artist. There was a small white placard beside the canvas. It didn’t have the name of the artist, just a simple title “Bucky” and the year 1963. A little disappointed that Steve couldn’t get the name – maybe he’d ask Mr James Barnes about it later – Steve took a small step back so that he could continue staring at the face, at the eyes. The artist had captured the expression of the man perfectly – eyes crinkled slightly at the edges, both warm and seductive, the mouth curved into a little grin, a little bit of a tease. He looked like he had a juicy secret and was about to break out into laughter in any second.

He lost all sense of time, standing in front of that painting, wondering how much the gallery was selling it for; no way that Steve could afford something like that on a cop’s salary, but he could dream.

“The fact that you’ve been staring at this particular painting for the last 20 minutes makes me very curious about what it is that you feel when you’re looking at it,” a man drawled from behind him, low and slightly amused.

Steve didn’t jump in surprise, but it was a near thing. He hadn’t even heard anyone come into the space. He turned to smile at the man behind him – and had to do a double take because the man had to be the model for the painting. He looked to be around Steve’s age, maybe an inch or two shorter, and was probably blessed with a bit of a baby face. He was even more beautiful in person, but Steve was trained to look beyond the surface for a deeper truth. He was dressed in black boots, black jeans, a white dress shirt, a black vest with a subtle pattern, and a blue-gray scarf with frayed edges looped around his neck in an artful manner. His hair was dark brown and wavy, brushed off his face. He carried himself with natural ease, a confidence that Steve only saw in people who didn’t feel that they had much to prove to anyone. He could sense a bit of cockiness in him, but the charming smile took off some of the edge.

The man’s grin widened as he looked at Steve – the same blue-gray eyes crinkling at the edges, the same full lips curving into a delighted smile – and Steve forced himself to stop staring back. The man’s eyes were just as hypnotic in real life as in the painting. Steve looked away, a little embarrassed at being caught staring and feeling so sentimental towards the stranger, and looked around at the other artwork on the walls in the space. He hadn’t even registered that there were other artwork in the same space.

“I didn’t mean to stare at you, uh, your painting,” Steve babbled, glancing at the man.

He laughed, throwing back his head. “Believe me, I’m not shy about being looked at. If I were, I wouldn’t have sat for that painting in the first place.”

Steve smiled and nodded. “I was looking for the name of the artist, but it’s not listed.”

“Ahhh…the artist prefers to remain anonymous, I’m afraid.”

“Is it for sale? Not that I would even be able to afford it, I mean. I’m just curious.”

“Not for sale. It was a gift to me from my artist friend. I would never part with it, no matter the price.”

Steve nodded. “I’m sure the gallery probably got a lot of offers from people to buy it.”

“I think a member of a royal family once tried to steal it after he was told that he couldn’t purchase it,” the man said, chuckling. He looked at Steve and cocked his head slightly. “If you wouldn’t mind telling me what  _you_  felt when you looked at it.”

“Oh, um I’m not an art critic or anything like that, but…well, the artist is very talented. He or she really captured the expression –  _your_  expression, in such a realistic way. If it weren’t such a big painting, I’d say that it could be like a photograph or—“

“No, I mean, what did you  _feel_ looking at my face.”

Steve turned and looked at the painting again. “I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful before, I didn’t think this man could really exist. And I wanted to know what he was looking at or thinking, in that moment, that was going to make him laugh.”

“Maybe one day, I’ll tell you the story behind the smile.”

Steve licked his bottom lip. “I think I would really like that.”

“Did it turn you on?”

He barked out a surprised laugh and then shook his head. “I don’t think I need to feed your ego.”

“I’m Bucky. I believe you were looking for me,” the man said, blue eyes looking over Steve.

Steve stared at him, raising his eyebrows, a bit dumbfounded and extremely flattered by his comment. _Bucky._ That was the title of the painting. The name seemed to fit the other man – uncommon, irreverent, good-natured – Steve knew how to read people and his instincts were telling him that Bucky might just return Steve’s interest; that if Steve played his cards right, he might be able to get a date with Bucky and—

“I’m James Barnes. I prefer Bucky, though. You’re Detective…”

_Damn it. Such was his luck. He couldn’t ask Bucky on a date, not until the investigation was over._

“Oh, right. Yes,” he laughed, a bit nervously. He reached into his pocket for his badge and showed it to Barnes. “Detective Steve Rogers. I’m with the NYPD, the 67th Precinct, Brooklyn.”

Barnes smiled, holding out his hand. Steve shook it firmly, noticing that his hand felt cool to the touch.

“And what can I do for the NYPD, Detective Rogers?”


	3. What a Billionaire Wants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairings: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes - growing friendship to something more intimate
> 
> Summary: Someone who can be easily bought isn’t worth having.
> 
> Note: Unfinished; not sure when I'll pick it up to work on it again. Let's call it a one-off with potential.

**Stark Tower**

Morning rituals started early with Steve getting up before sunrise to go for his run through Central Park. Steve had come home and showered and dressed by the time Bucky woke up to wander out of his bedroom, sleepily rubbing his eyes. Steve made their coffee, a bag of warm bagels from that bakery that they loved three blocks from the Tower on the kitchen counter.

Bucky loved warm, fresh baked breads. For something so simple, it was the one thing that made him feel like a normal person and Steve indulged Bucky his need for this morning ritual. He knew it was a remnant to the way-back past of being a soldier…and the more recent past of being the Asset where a regimented schedule kept him focused. His mornings with Steve kept him grounded; it brought back memories of sitting with his best friend in their tiny, cold-water walk up, sharing four-day old bread and lukewarm black coffee. Some days, he thought he could still taste the coffee grounds in his mouth, brushing his teeth and spitting them out into the sink afterwards.

“Morning, Steve. Morning, Jarvis,” Bucky muttered, sitting down at the small breakfast nook in the kitchen, looking at the pile of newspapers on the table.

“Hey, Buck.”

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes. It’s Saturday, 3 October 2015. The weather is a pleasant 69 degrees Fahrenheit.”

Bucky grinned. “Thanks, buddy.”

Steve brought over two large mugs of coffee, setting one down in front of Bucky. He grabbed it with both hands, the metal fingers making a dull clink against the mug, his flesh hand cozy and warm on the other side. He drank down half by the time Steve collected plates, knives, and the bag of bagels.

“Thanks, Steve,” he said, looking up at his best friend. Even after all this time, Bucky had to lift his eyes about 10-inches higher than where he’d normally look.  

Steve smiled at him, running his hand over Bucky’s long hair, stopping to squeeze his shoulder where the metal arm met flesh.

“You’re welcome, Buck.”

Bucky greedily pulled out his favorite bagels from the bag, the smell of warm breaded deliciousness – one plain, one onion – making Bucky’s mouth water. Steve smiled as he handed the cream cheese, watching as Bucky ate quickly, without grace or finesse. Bucky was certain that there was a time in his life in the way-back past when he actually had some manners. But warm bagel trumped pretentious table manners every time.

“Remember to chew and then swallow,” Steve said, snickering.

“Trust me, I know how to swallow,” Bucky mumbled, his mouth full.

They shared the piles of newspapers between them – Steve grabbing the front section from _The Washington Post_ and handing Bucky _The New York Times_. They read through the national and international news, making comments to each other on possible HYDRA sightings, then traded papers when they were done. They made their way steadily through the local papers and then to a variety of tabloids. Both of them shared a curiosity for the scandal rags; back in their day, they’d read _The New York Daily Mirror_ , which was probably more entertainment than actual news.

“Sirs, Mr. Stark is on the elevator and will arrive in twelve seconds,” Jarvis told them.

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Steve said, as Bucky ate through both bagels, reaching into the bag for a third one, still busily chewing the piece in his mouth.

He was busy putting more cream cheese on an everything bagel when Tony stepped off the elevator and walked onto their floor.

“Come on, Barnes, let’s go.”

Bucky looked up from his plate. The older man was looking slightly manic with dark eyes bright with amusement, mussed up hair, and oddly enough, wearing a blue blazer over his usual black tee-shirt and jeans.

He managed to chew and swallow, taking a long drink of his coffee. “Where we going? Kind of early to be going out partying.”

Tony grinned, eyes widening with mischief. “You need a better selection of clothes if you’re going to be seen with me out in public.”

Steve frowned, looking up from his newspaper. “What’s this about, Tony?”

“Never you mind, grandpa, just some harmless fun,” he said, smoothly. “Just taking the Buckster out for a fitting.”

“What’s wrong with his clothes?”

Bucky made a curious noise around his mouthful, waving his right hand at Tony to continue.

Tony sighed, shaking his head. “Nothing. But they’re not always appropriate to where I’m going to be taking him in a few days.”

“Where you taking him?”

Tony laughed, patting Steve’s shoulder. “I didn’t know I had to ask your permission to take Barnes out.”

Steve leaned back in his chair and gave Tony a stern look. “I’m just watching out for him.”

“Don’t you trust me?” Tony said, grinning widely. Bucky saw that the smile didn’t reach Tony’s eyes, though, as he looked at Steve. “I promise to bring him home by midnight and I won’t even get fresh.” He winked at Bucky. “At least, not on the first date, Bucky’s a good boy.”

Bucky couldn’t hide his grin fast enough and he ducked his chin down, finishing off the third bagel and looking at the bag with longing for another. He sighed, maybe he could get something from one of the many food trucks throughout the city. He took his time to fold the newspaper he was reading neatly and slid it across the table to Steve.

“It’s all right, Stevie, it sounds like fun. I could use a nice civilian suit anyway.”

***

**Upper West Side**

“I thought we were going shopping,” Bucky said, his instincts coming online fully as he followed Tony down an alley.

“We are going shopping,” Tony said, grinning over his shoulder. “There are some places that are hidden gems in this city, places that only a certain type of person knows.”

“Looks like we’re heading to some kind of illegal sweatshop or something,” he murmured, trusting that Tony knew what he was doing. “You know, I’m not sure how I feel about getting clothes from slave labor.”

Tony nodded. “And I don’t disagree, but this is not a sweatshop, and for the prices that I’m going to be paying, it’s not slave labor either. We’re here.”

They stopped at a heavy mahogany door and Tony pressed a button, set discreetly next to a small gold plaque with the word “Simon’s” printed in script. A few moments later, the door open silently and a distinguished looking gentleman greeted Tony warmly.

“Mr. Stark, it’s been too long,” the man said, shaking Tony’s hand and stepping to the side to let him inside the building.

“Good to see you, Charleston. This is my friend, Bucky Barnes. We’re here for him today.”

“Very good, sir,” Charleston said, shaking Bucky’s hand. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Barnes.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

Bucky followed them into the building, amazed at how different things looked once they stepped inside. It was like he walked into some British tailor shop – he remembered what they were like from being in London in the 1940s – very posh and for wealthy gentlemen clientele. Howard Stark had taken him and Steve to get suits made, tailored to fit. It was the first time Bucky had ever owned something that was made just for him. 

“It’s like time traveling to the past, huh?” Bucky murmured, looking over at Tony.

Tony was watching him with dark eyes, moving over his face with the kind of focus that he only paid to his projects during precision work. Bucky tucked his lips into his mouth and gave a shy smile, looking at the polished wooden floors.

“Dad…he had a picture of you and Steve with him, dressed to the nines, sometime during the war,” Tony said, smiling fondly at him. “You always looked so pleased with yourself.”

Bucky barked out a deep laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I probably was. Steve said that I always liked looking nice; he probably meant that I was a vain song-of-a-bitch but didn’t want to say it like that. There were some old pictures of us, of me, at the museum. I don’t remember all the details, but I remember that Howard got a kick out of taking me and Steve out, a couple of Brooklyn rubes out in big London town.”

“Gentlemen, if you’ll follow me,” Charleston said, holding back a rich forest green curtain separating the front lobby to the other room.

Bucky felt Tony’s hand on his back, guiding him gently through the curtains to what looked like the showroom, decorated with wood so smooth and polished it reflected the lights like glass. There room smelled of sandalwood and cigar smoke, a thick red carpet on the floor, a few displays dressed with perfectly ironed dress shirts, neck ties, and vests. Bucky ran his right hand along the rich fabrics, feeling the cool cottons and soft tweeds and wools under his fingertips.

“Could I offer you something to drink?”

Bucky shook his head politely, too caught up touching the fabrics of the different suits in the room.

Tony chuckled. “Are we talking coffee or something smoother?”

“Mr. Stark will have a splash of his favorite scotch, Charleston. You can find the bottle in the cabinet, reserved for him.”

Bucky turned to see the short, older man, walking into the room. He stood a few inches shorter than Tony and Bucky smiled, watching as the older man hugged Tony heartily, patting his back.

“Simon, it’s good to see you again,” Tony said, looking at the man with a small, private smile. He turned towards Bucky, waving his hand for Bucky to approach. “This is Bucky, formerly Sergeant Barnes, and he is in need of a good suit.”

Bucky pulled his lips into a polite smile and shook the older man’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

Simon chuckled, shaking his hand firmly. “The pleasure is mine; please, call me Simon. So, let’s take a look at you, son.”

He stepped back and took his time looking at Bucky from the top of his head, the width of his shoulders, and down to his feet. Charleston handed Tony a crystal glass with a small amount of amber liquid, then walked towards them, holding a notepad in his hand, a measuring tape around his neck. Bucky held still, allowing their observation, the soft whir of the motors in his left arm turning over in the quiet of the room.

Neither Simon nor Charleston commented on the sound.

“Shall we take some measurements?” Simon said, smiling kindly as he took Bucky’s right hand and leading him towards a well-lit area in front of three large mirrors. “Please remove your clothes, Sergeant Barnes.”

“You can call me Bucky.”

Simon chuckled. “Hardly, sir, that is not a gentleman’s proper name.”

“James,” Bucky said, softly. “My first name is James.”

“Of course, James,” Simon said, stepping back and consulting with Charleston quietly, giving Bucky room to undress.

Bucky saw Tony sitting down in a green plaid armchair, sipping his drink. He raised his eyebrows at Bucky through the mirror and Bucky pulled off his dark gray hoodie. Charleston plucked it from Bucky’s hand when he started looking for a place to put his clothes. Even he knew that it wouldn’t be proper to just toss his clothes on the floor.

He took off his black boots and stripped out of his burgundy Henley and jeans, standing in just his skin and his metal arm in front of the mirrors. He stared at his body with nothing more than a clinical eye – his skin was intact, due to the serum and cryogenic freezing he still looked like a man in his late 20s, his musculature was in working condition, his opened and closed his left hand and watched the metal plates shifting up his arm. The only part of his body that drew Bucky’s gaze was the scaring around the area where his metal arm met the flesh of his shoulder. He was fully operational though; the time out of the “freezer,” as Tony called it, having done nothing to impair Bucky’s ability to use his body and skillset to serve.

Of course, he didn’t do that anymore.

“Damn, Barnes, you really don’t have anything to be embarrassed about, do you?” Tony said, letting out a low whistle.

“Why would I be embarrassed?” He said, looking at Tony over his shoulder. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No, of course not, son,” Simon said, quickly. “Charleston, would you fetch James a pair of boxers, please?”

“Yes, sir,” Charleston murmured, walking to a section in the corner of the room and bringing back a pair of boxers, handing it to Bucky.

The fabric was soft, white with light blue stripes. Bucky bent over – “ _Jesus fucking Christ_ ,” Tony muttered behind him – and stepped into the boxers, pulling them up as he stood up.

“Wonderful, let’s get started,” Simon said, chuckling softly. “Charleston, may I have the measuring tape?”

*****  

**The Velvet Room**

"She was a real doll, why didn't you take her up on her offer?" Bucky looked over the heads of people near the VIP area, dancing, showing off for Tony Stark. “You could have anyone here, just snap your fingers.”

Tony laughed, slouching down on the plush velvet booth, one foot propped up against the edge of the glass coffee table. "She was more interested in my money – or at least getting a picture with me to put it out on her social media. She’ll probably get a few thousand new followers now." 

"You just being cynical or…” 

Tony gave Bucky a knowing look. "I can always tell when someone wants me for other reasons than being with me." 

"What's the harm in...it's like a trade. You get her affections--" 

“ _Buy_  her affections,” he said, wisely. “Someone who can be easily bought isn’t worth having.”

Bucky frowned. "What about me? You...you buy me things, take me places, give me stuff...is it the same?" 

"Are you out with me because of the clothes and the $200 haircut and the all access pass to every VIP room in the world?" 

"No." 

"Then why are you out with me?" 

Bucky grinned and gave a little shrug. "Because you asked." 

"Because you never expect it of me." 

"Are you...expecting me to be grateful in some other way?" 

Tony's dark eyes crinkled at the edges in amusement. He inhaled deeply and turned towards Bucky, leaning in close. "What are you offering, honey? Don't you know that I'm the master of negotiation?" 

Bucky rolled his eyes. "You're a punk, Stark." 

Tony laughed, throwing back his head. “You know, I really like you, Barnes.”

He barked out a soft, surprised laugh. “Why?”

Tony smiled at him, sipping his drink and turning to look out at the people on the dance floor.

“No, I mean, why? I can’t give you nothing you don’t already have or can get on your own. I’m not that good of company, no matter what Steve says,” Bucky said, chuckling lowly. “Half the world governments want to see me put behind bars; the other half just wants me to disappear. All I have now is my name, a handful of memories that wake me up screaming the house down, and…”

“Natasha once told me that Steve said, back when he had nothing, he always had you,” Tony said, turning to look at him, dark eyes focused on Bucky’s face. “Rich man, poor man – that kind of friendship and loyalty, that’s worth more than any amount of money I have, and I have a lot and I can always make more.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, nodding. “I’ve not met anyone who’s as loyal as Steve.”

Tony laughed, trailing off to a long sigh. “I was talking about you, Barnes.”


	4. Mr. Esquire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Jaded magazine writer Bucky Barnes is assigned to interview Hollywood golden boy and Oscar nominee Steve Rogers. After a string of highly successful box office action flicks as comic book hero Captain America, Steve took a break from the franchise to work on a small indie production where he played a hearing-impaired artist that put him back on the map as a “serious actor.” Bucky has interviewed – and slept with – his share of celebrities. Steve, no doubt, is easy pickings. But the socially awkward actor is uncommonly polite, shy, and more interested in taking Bucky to his favorite Brooklyn galleries or joining in a protest march for LGBTQ rights, than to talk about his film work or his movie star status. Is Steve Rogers just a carefully crafted image, someone who deserves that Oscar for his “aw shucks ma’am” performance, or does Bucky discover that Steve is more than his acting roles?
> 
> Author’s Note: Inspired by the hilarious, tongue-in-cheek Chris Evans interview in GQ Magazine by Edith Zimmerman.

 

Bucky stared at the email from his best friend for ten minutes before he clicked on the link, wincing and then squinting his eyes, bracing himself for the obnoxious headline and the grainy black-and-white picture.

He leaned close to his computer screen, trying to make out if people could really see that it was Steve Rogers, and Bucky was relieved to find that the two men caught in a hot kiss in the dark, narrow hallway, surrounded by the press of bodies and cigarette smoke wafting in from the back alley door, really could be anyone. There was nothing distinguishing about the tall, wide-shouldered blond and his dark-haired lover.

With a scowl, Bucky wrote a response to Natasha:  _“Fuck off, that’s not Rogers and that’s certainly not me.”_

Less than a minute later, Natasha sent back her reply:  _“That’s your fucking red star tat on your left arm, dipshit. Besides, you two were seen by multiple witnesses who corroborated the story. It’s trending on Twitter.”_

Bucky went back to the article and looked at the picture again – that was indeed his left arm with his fucking tattoo – and he groaned, reading the rest of her email:  _“He looks like he’d be about a 4. I’m not sure if I’d rate him higher though, without details. A lot of good looking people are terribly disappointing fucks.”_

Bucky deleted the email thread all together and shut down his MacBook.

He nearly bit his tongue when his iPhone beeped with a new text message. Bucky picked it up and looked at the screen, the sender was named “Punk” in his contacts list. Bucky made a face and dropped the phone on top of his desk, not bothering to open the text.

***

Two months ago, Bucky had a normal life. He got to travel for his work, met every notable Hollywood player in the game, and slept with his fair share of them as well. It was a good life. Bucky had a reputation for writing fair articles, giving depth and breadth to actors and actresses without them coming off as pretentious insensitive douchebags or over privileged, complaining asshats. He was the senior writer for Film and Entertainment for Esquire Magazine, his inside knowledge of the Hollywood industry was deep and wide, a master at using the right word to prove an actor a sinner or a saint – maybe both all at once. Bucky knew the game; and he played it well with everyone. Even though he was a writer, he knew how to keep his mouth shut and gained enough goodwill to slip into their beds.

And then, Bucky’s editor assigned him to the Steve Rogers interview.

“He’s earned his first Oscar nomination,” Phil Coulson said, hands folded together on top of his desk, an inordinately pleased smile on his lips. “Lucky for us, Mr. Rogers has accepted our request for an interview. We’ll be the first to put him on the cover. I want you to handle it.”

Bucky slouched in the comfortable chair in front of Phil’s desk. He ran his hand through his hair and adjusted his black frame glasses, taking a deep breath. “I heard he’s a bit of a punk.”

“It’s nothing you can’t handle, James,” he said, calling Bucky by his real first name. “You’re the best writer on staff and I think you’ll give him a fair write up.”

 

 


	5. Rival Professors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original Prompt: Rival professors – we’re both professors in the same department and it enhances your reputation with the students as a mysterious enigma and my reputation as a stone-cold terror if we pretend to hate each other, plus when we back each other up in departmental meetings, everyone’s so surprised they give in right away.
> 
> Note: Written in the style of “The Virgin Suicides” with the students telling the story/gossip behind Professors Rogers and Barnes; Names of the students are taken from the Young Avengers stories.

 

Most of us remembered when Professor James Buchanan Barnes joined the university’s history department. Kat Farrell giggled and called him, “fresh meat” and reported how she overheard in the ladies room that there was a bet on which of the faculty could get Professor Barnes into bed before the end of his first semester. He had a nickname – _Bucky_ – that Tommy Shepherd claimed he heard Professor Steve Rogers pronounce with out-of-character derision in his low Brooklyn drawl, but we now know that it was all just a ruse, that it wasn’t derisive at all, and it was probably said with something akin to love or lust.

But that wasn’t the last of Professor Barnes’s nicknames as he had earned quite a number of them from his first semester teaching one of the most intense courses on the fall of the Soviet Union. Nate Richards, who was in Professor Barnes’s first session, claimed that Professor Barnes would lapse into dark, guttural Russian in the middle of his lectures, unknowingly switching languages, with a crazed glint in his icy blue eyes. Nate also reported that while blaring the Russian national anthem, Professor Barnes went into some kind of frozen daze and Professor Rogers, who was teaching next door, came into the room to shout at Professor Barnes to turn the music down, noticed that Professor Barnes was frozen, and yelled what sounded like “Winter Soldier, stand down” that brought Professor Barnes out of his bizarre fugue state.

Professor Steven Grant Rogers wasn’t just eye candy in the history department. He taught a complex World War II history course that pulled us into his lectures as if we were with him in the field of battle. No one could get a really good read on Professor Rogers; he was a brilliant teacher, there was a waitlist for his class every semester, and his lectures were always interesting because he didn’t regurgitate the same stuff we’d learned in high school history classes. But he was built like a Greek God, he was always polite to everyone, and he was also completely oblivious to the fact that everyone flirted with him. “I swear to God, _everyone_  flirts with him, it’s like a compulsion or something,” America Chavez announced, shaking her head. “Students, admins, profs, all the Deans, janitorial, IT, the entire Student Union, grounds, visiting dignitaries, young, old, gay, straight, trans, bi, whatever – everyone flirts with Professor Rogers and he totally doesn’t get it.” For someone so personable, he was completely unavailable. “Honestly, you guys, can you just consider the fact that he might be Ace?” Jessica Jones said, her voice low with annoyance. “How can anyone who looks like him be asexual? He can bang anyone he wants! I’d bang him. Hell, Nate would pay to bang him!” Eli Bradley demanded to know. “You’re a fucking asshole,” Jessica told him, rolling her eyes.

Despite some of the best pieces of gossip, we were wary of Nate because it was obvious he had a huge crush on Professor Rogers and made it a point to always side with Professor Rogers over Professor Barnes. “It’s nothing as lame as a simple crush. I want Rogers to be my mentor,” Nate once told us, casually slipping it in. “I heard he used to date Dr. Victor von Doom and, I don’t know, I feel like I really need to meet Dr. Doom and going through Rogers is the fastest way to make that happen.” It would be only much later, after we graduated from college, that we’d discover too late Nate’s true colors and that he would kill one of our best friends.

The nickname Winter Soldier suited Professor Barnes perfectly. No one really knew that much about him. He didn’t have a home address, just a P.O. Box in town, and none of the student workers who had access to faculty records could get anything useful. Cassie Lang found a copy of Professor Barnes’s curriculum vitae and noted that he spent several years in the Army where he was honorably discharged as a Sergeant. Further intense Google research showed that Professor Barnes served with distinction, primarily in the Balkans, and was noted to have received a Prisoner of War medal on top of his other medals. “That’s probably when he must’ve lost his left arm,” Teddy Altman said, shivering at the idea, “when he was a POW. They must’ve cut it off him.” We knew that there was more to it than that, but no one was willing to address Professor Barnes’s unique and awesomely intimidating prosthetic to him. “I heard that he’s best friends with Tony Stark and Stark personally built him that silver arm. It’s supposed to be on the cutting edge of biomecha prosthetics, like a decade ahead of current research, and Stark is going to make major bank when he rolls it out commercially,” Billy Kaplan told us, shaking a handful of printouts in his hand. “Professor Barnes is his test case; I read that he’s able to feel everything like a real arm, but that it’s 50 times stronger than a human arm.”

Professor Barnes was an intense man, but he never lost his temper and he never resorted to making threats. He was a straightforward kind of guy; we always knew where we stood with him. It was obvious that he took his teaching duties seriously, but he never gave out pointless quizzes or lame assignments. If we attended his lectures, did our readings, submitted our semester research paper, and passed the final exam, Professor Barnes said that we’d done our duty as his students. Despite the lax environment, no one absolutely fucked with Professor Barnes. Kate Bishop told us that she overheard Professor Barnes talking with Dean Coulson about an incident that happened in Russia. “He was talking about brainwashing and being put on ice and something called a Dragunova SVD,” she told us, her voice breathless with excitement. A Google search showed us that a Dragunova was a Russian sniper rifle.

But the most amazing thing – a frightening thing – was watching Professor Rogers and Professor Barnes interacting, like watching a human battle unfold. They were both so smart, so sarcastic, and so quick with their insults and digs, it was hard to keep up with them. When Kate Bishop was a student worker in the history department, she would sit in on faculty meetings to take notes, and she reported that “Professor Rogers and Professor Barnes seriously hate each other. They never agree on any single thing. Not even on the kind of sandwiches to order for catering!” It was obvious that they hated each other, but no one knew why. “I mean, they’re both from Brooklyn boys so it kind of makes sense that they’re both a pair of jerks,” Kate told us, laughing.

All of which was a clever ruse, a long con against everyone at the university. It took three years for us to unravel their odd relationship, and then things started to make a lot of sense. We sent Teddy and Eli to follow Professor Rogers, and Jessica and Cassie to follow Professor Barnes. We knew that Professor Rogers had a small cottage house off-campus, but no one knew where Professor Barnes lived. Jessica and Cassie followed him to the town’s post office where he picked up his mail, then walked ten blocks back towards campus, walking behind a cozy blue house with a red door and white shutters. Teddy, Eli, Jessica and Cassie looked at each other in surprise and realized that Professor Rogers and Professor Barnes were _living_  together. “And we’re not talking just as housemates either. We looked into the kitchen window and saw them kissing,” Cassie said, giddily. “There was a lot of tongue action,” Eli told us, eyes widening meaningfully. Cassie squealed, clapping her hands. “Professor Rogers slipped his hands into Professor Barnes’s back pockets.”

Definitive proof came when Teddy took a picture with his phone and the four of them ran off the property when Professor Barnes somehow heard the quiet “click” and turned to glare at them and Eli screamed, “oh shit they saw us run!” Teddy showed us the picture of Professor Rogers and Professor Barnes standing very closely in their cozy little kitchen, arms around each other, talking softly and kissing. “They’re so hot together,” America murmured, looking at the image. “What’re we going to do with this? Should we post it online or something? No one would ever believe us,” Tommy said, frowning slightly. “Why don’t we just give them their privacy? If they’ve gone to all these lengths to keep their relationship private, then we should give them their privacy,” Jessica said, looking at us.

We agreed to look at the photographic evidence of their private life together one last time and Teddy deleted the image from his phone. No one said anything more about Professor Rogers and Professor Barnes; and if we smiled to ourselves whenever we heard Professor Rogers call Professor Barnes “Bucky,” well, then that was our secret to keep. 


	6. Common Royalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original prompt: Runaway royalty and confused commoner (though not really confused)

Interviewer: When did you first meet?

Steve Rogers: We were pretty young, just kids.

Prince James: I was maybe 13 or 14 and I’d snuck out of the Palace to explore the city on my own. And I walked past this alley where this kid was getting beat up. But he kept getting up and getting pushed down.

Steve Rogers: I really don’t like bullies.

Interviewer: So Your Highness, you rescued Steve?

Prince James: Hardly; he was holding his own. I went in to watch his back. Steve doesn’t need rescuing.

Steve Rogers: Is that when I gave you my favorite Captain America comic?

Prince James: Yeah; and I gave you my signet ring. I probably knew then that we’d grow up and I’d ask you to marry me.

 

“You all right?” Bucky said, helping the boy back on his feet. “Want me to get you to a hospital?”

“Nah, I’m all right,” the boy said, looking down at his dirty khakis and trying to slap off the stained fabric with his hands. “Mom is going to be so annoyed that my pants are dirty.”

Bucky barked out a laugh. “She’ll be annoyed at your pants? What about the bruise on your face?”

The boy frowned and reached up to touch his cheeks, flinching when his fingers pushed on the swollen skin. “Well, it’s a good thing she’s a nurse.”

“Where do you live? I’ll walk you home in case those jerks come back,” Bucky offered, giving the boy a small smile. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

“Steve Rogers,” the boy said, nodding his head at Bucky. “You like videogames?”

“Sure,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Doesn’t everybody?”

Bucky followed Steve out of the alley and they walked around the block to a row of brownstones. He watched as Steve took out a pair of keys from the pocket of his pants, undoing the large pin holding the keys to the pocket. He unlocked the front door, holding it for Bucky, and the two of them walked up two flights of stairs. Steve used the other key to open the apartment door and they slipped inside quickly.

“I got the new Mario Kart game on my birthday,” Steve said, kicking off his shoes and motioning for Bucky to do the same. “Do you like Mario Kart?”

Considering that Bucky had never played a videogame in his life, he wasn’t sure how to answer. He shrugged again. “I guess so.”

Steve looked at him oddly as they came into the neatly organized living room. The TV was small and old, but more than functional. He watched as Steve set up the system, handing one of the game remote controls to Bucky. He looked at all the small buttons and had no idea how he was going to fake his way through this. He couldn’t possibly tell Steve, a Commoner, that he had no idea how to play a stupid videogame. He was His Royal Highness Prince James Buchanan Barnes, Duke of York, Earl of Hampton, Royal Knight Companion of the Most Noble Order of Brooklyn, Personal Aide-de-Camp to Her Majesty The Queen, and Heir to the Royal Throne of the United States of America.  

“What do you mean you guess so? You either do or you don’t, Bucky.”

“Well, then I guess I don’t know since I’ve never played it before,” he said, defensively.

Steve’s face lit up with a wide smile, the lower right side of his face starting to swell and becoming a bit purple. “That’s cool! I’ll show you! You’ll really like it, Bucky, I promise.”

Two hours later and Bucky and Steve were laughing, taunting each other as they worked through each race and level, Steve sitting cross-legged on the floor and Bucky jumping on the couch. That was how Steve’s mom found them when she walked into the house.

“Boys! I could hear you carrying on from the stairs,” she said, walking into the room. “Good Heavens, the ruckus two little boys can make. Mind the neighbors, Steven.”

“Yes, mom,” Steve said, smiling at her.

“Ohhh…what happened to your face?” Mrs. Rogers said, coming closer to him. She frowned, reaching for his cheeks and brushing back his blond hair. “Why didn’t you put any ice on it? It’s going to swell up to something awful later.”

“It doesn’t hurt too much, just don’t touch it.”

Mrs. Rogers sighed, running her hand gently over Steve’s head. “Are you really okay, honey?”

“I’m okay.”

She kissed his forehead and sighed. “I wish you’d stop getting into fights all the time.”

“They were being mean,” he protested, looking up at her. “I was just trying to do the right thing.”

“It’s true, ma’am,” Bucky said, trying to protect his new friend from a mother’s wrath, not that Mrs. Rogers seemed all that wrathful. “I saw them hitting him and pushing him down, so I went to help.”

Mrs. Rogers looked at Bucky, a kind smile on her face. He held his breath, wondering if she’d figure out who he was, and from the way that her eyes widened slightly, Bucky knew that she figured it out, and that she’d probably call the Palace to come and fetch him back.

“Are you Prince James?”

Bucky nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Do…do your people know that you’re here playing videogames with my Stevie?”

Steve turned around and stared at Bucky.

“No, ma’am,” he said, honestly. “I kinda snuck out of the Palace.”

“Good Heavens, we’re going to be arrested for kidnapping,” Mrs. Rogers said, getting to her feet and heading into the kitchen for the phone.

“I didn’t kidnap him,” Steve said, getting to his feet and grimacing. He turned and looked at Bucky. “I didn’t, right? You have to tell them. Don’t make us go to jail!”

“You’re not going to jail!” Bucky said, getting down off the couch.

“Stevie, didn’t you know that you were playing with Prince James?” Mrs. Rogers called from the kitchen, flipping through the phone book.

“His name is Bucky,” Steve called back to her.

“Bucky? What in the world is a Bucky? Do I just call 911? Is there a Palace emergency number?”

Bucky could’ve told her the Palace emergency number, but that would’ve meant that the guards would come out to get him and Mr. Pierce would scold him for running off and he’d be on lock down for 70 years or something.

“Sure I knew who he was,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “But he wanted to be called Bucky so I didn’t say nothing about him being a Prince because I didn’t want to be rude.”

Mrs. Rogers stepped out of the kitchen and stared at the two of them, her mouth opened and her eyes blinking.

“What am I going to do with the two of you?”

***

**TABLOID HEADLINE: Prince James Cheats on Future Consort; Who is the Mysterious Lover?**

 

Fifteen years later, the Palace announced Prince James’s engagement to Mr. Steven Rogers.

To outsiders, Prince James’s engagement came as a complete surprise. But Bucky’s mother, his younger sisters, Steve’s mom, the Palace advisors, and friends knew that Bucky and Steve’s engagement was inevitable.

For years, no one really believed that their friendship would endure the social brutalities that could divide a Royal and a Commoner; that Bucky would tire of his tag-along non-royal friend. Steve was a short, skinny kid and he grew up to be a short, skinny teen. No one was ever interested in the shy, awkward Commoner; there were times, if Steve was included in a group picture, he was mostly cropped out in the photograph splashed across glossy tabloid pages of Prince James’s glamorous royal life.

After high school, Prince James attended the prestigious York College, an institution with a long legacy of teaching and refining those heirs who would one day take the thrones or take the powerful positions of their families industries. It was there that everyone hoped he would network with his Peerage and find someone of uncommon beauty, worthy enough to bring home to the Palace. Prince James graduated with a degree in political science and business and came home to learn the business of running a kingdom.

Steve attended the Rhode Island School of Design and graduated with a degree in graphic design. He returned home to Washington DC to work for a design firm, slowly building his reputation as a creative, an artist, and rising to the ranks of Creative Director of the top design firm in the city.  

Steve took a small condo in DuPont Circle, tucked away on a quiet street, outside of the fancy spotlight that followed Prince James everywhere. But the best thing with Steve living on the outside was that it gave _Bucky_  a place to go where he could be unfettered by the expectations of his social rank. Most nights, Bucky could be found eating pizza and drinking beer on Steve’s tiny balcony, curled up against Steve’s chest as they talked about their day.

“Am I being selfish, keeping you hidden away?”

Steve considered it, then huffed out a small laugh and shook his head. “Nah, I like that it’s just us, no crown or throne or paparazzi.”

“It’ll all change, you know, when you marry me. Everyone will fall in love with you.”

“I’ll be ready for it then,” he said, stroking Bucky’s hair and pressing a kiss against his temple.

“Still haven’t told me yes,” Bucky said, pouting slightly.

“It’s been a yes for nearly all my life, jerk,” Steve whispered, tilting Bucky’s head back and kissing his soft lips.

Bucky turned and curled his arm behind Steve’s neck, changing the angle of the kiss so that he could taste Steve’s mouth properly. He chuckled against Steve’s lips and then pulled back slightly to gaze up at him.

“You’re such a punk.”

***

When the engagement announcement became public, the Palace Press Secretary asked for a sense of social decorum and privacy for Mr. Steven Rogers. As a public citizen, Mr. Rogers wasn’t under any obligation to give interviews or to have his pictures taken. He had a right to privacy as he completed his projects. He would be open to public appearances as soon as he had fulfilled his work contracts.

No one was ever interested in short, skinny Steve in the past; they weren’t all that interested in the same old Steve of the present. For once, the rabid paparazzi gave Steve a wide berth.

That didn’t stop the never ending commentary on their engagement. It was unanimously agreed that Prince James could do so much better thank short, skinny Steve Rogers. There weren’t many official media pictures of Steve, since he was cropped out of them, so news and entertainment outlets turned to social media to hack private social media accounts to try and find recent pictures of Steve. In order to protect Steve’s privacy, the Palace network IT security teams had shut down all of Steve’s social media accounts and trawled through the Internet to delete any images of Steve that they found.

For all intents and purposes, Steve Rogers was invisible.

So when the picture of Bucky and the mysterious, hot blond kissing on a balcony showed up in the media, it was the hottest news cycle running.

The picture, taken from a smartphone camera from across the street, wasn’t all that explicit. But it showed Prince James leaning back against the chest of a handsome man who was built like a linebacker with wide shoulders, a few inches taller than Prince James, and who touched the royal with surety and familiarity. The kiss wasn’t dirty, but it was intimate and deep, with the mysterious lover’s long arms holding Prince James close. It wasn’t a cheap affair, not just a sexual romp for the glamorous Prince James, but an emotional and physical connection. It was the worst kind of affair; Prince James was in love with the mysterious, gorgeous blond.

***

“Why haven’t you said anything? The press is crucifying you and calling you all kinds of names – calling for you to step down from your throne,” Steve said, frowning deeply.

“I don’t care what they say,” Bucky told him, shaking his head. “Your privacy and security is more important to me than the fucking tabloids.”

Steve huffed out a breath and shook his head. “I hate that they’re treating you like this; I can’t stand that they’re trying to bully you.”

Bucky grinned and stood up to place a warm, chaste kiss on Steve’s mouth. “I love you, Stevie, you always have my back.”

“Someone has to since you won’t do anything to defend yourself.”

“When we finally do go public, they’re all going to piss their pants for insulting us,” Bucky said, gleefully. “So much ass-kissing and kowtowing to regain your favor; all those nasty things that they used to print about you.”

Steve sighed, his hands on Bucky’s hips. “I don’t care what people think I look like. If I were still that short, skinny kid, I know you’d still love me.”

“I would – I have,” Bucky murmured, licking up Steve’s neck. “And I love this, too.” He took a deep breath and gazed up at Steve. “I love you for your heart of gold and your beliefs and your kindness and your sense of fairness and your weird sense of humor…so many other things than just your body. Which I love, too, by the way.”

Steve laughed and rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“It’s the same way that I know you love me and not my crown or my throne or the power or wealth of being the Prince Consort to a King.”

He watched as Steve nodded, meeting Bucky’s eyes.

“Then it’s worth it to me, losing a little privacy, so the world doesn’t believe that you’re a cheater or a liar or whatever horrible thing that they’re calling you now,” Steve told him, softly.

“Sure you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, nodding. “Then go out on a date with me. In public.”

Steve swallowed and took a deep breath, committing himself to their future. “I’d be proud to.”

“Damn, Rogers, you always know what to say to me.”

***

Reporter: Your Highness! Prince James! Is your engagement over? Taking your new lover out on a date? How does Steve Rogers feel about your affair?

Prince James: I don’t know, why don’t you ask Steve?

Reporter: We would, if we could get an interview with him!

Prince James: Tell them what you think about my affair.

Steve Rogers: Well, Buck, I guess you can call me your new lover; we’ve only been together for three years.

Prince James: Fifteen, total, if you want to count back that far.

Reporter: Wait! Are you saying that HE’S Steve Rogers!

Prince James: He’s always been Steve Rogers. Sometimes Stevie, but only his mom and I can call him that.

Reporter: You’re Steve Rogers?

Steve Rogers: I guess the cat’s out of the bag.

Prince James: Come on, doll, let’s go home.

Reporter: Holy shit…it’s been Steve Rogers the whole time…


	7. Incept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inception AU; Doesn't every fandom have an Inception AU fic?

**The Dream World – Level 1**

**Mark: Alexander Pierce**

 

Steve walked along the black and white marble floor of the Silver Corridor in The Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. He was smartly dressed in a black tux and white shirt, his left hand tucked into the pocket of his tailored slacks, hand curled around his totem, a small red ball with white and blue circles, a white star in the center. Beautifully dressed people mingled along the hall, the doors opened to all five of the gorgeous ballrooms. Music filled the air, pouring in discreetly from the small but expensive speakers that lined the hallway; champagne fountains flowing in cool and delightful rivers; the professional wait staff ready and willing to serve every patron’s indulgences.

“Cap, on your left,” Clint said into Steve’s earpiece. “Mark is heading into the Grand Ballroom.”

Steve brushed his right hand down the lapel of his jacket, acknowledging Clint’s direction. He took a few steps and walked into the four-story ballroom, taking a moment to look at the intricate details – the two-tiered balconies overlooking the floor, the 16-foot chandelier, the symphonic orchestra playing on the stage. This would be his last time world-building; he could no longer trust his mind. He had recruited Natasha to take his place as the Architect for all future jobs. He knew he should’ve allowed her to build the world, knew the risks involved, but Steve wanted to be the done to take down Alexander Pierce.  

“Fifteen minutes,” Phil said, his voice calm and clear.

“Start the clock,” Steve murmured, turning his head to the side and clearing his throat.

He took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and mingled among the guests, the glitterati of New York’s high society. He didn’t recognize any of the faces, but these were the men and women peopled by Alexander Pierce, President of HYDRA Industries.

“To your left,” Hawkeye intoned.

Steve took a sip of his champagne, his senses noting the refreshing taste, the feel of the expensive bubbly on his tongue, and looked to the left to see Pierce engaged in a lively conversation with a number of people fawning over him.

“Look at that asshole, even in his dreams, he was so full of himself that they’re all hanging on his every word,” Clint muttered, coldly.

“Cut the chatter, Hawkeye,” Steve said, firmly. “Phil, do you see where Pierce put the object?”

“It’s on his right wrist, the watch,” Phil told him, passing Steve and giving him a cordial nod.

There was an odd shake in the room, the champagne fountain trembling for just a moment. Steve watched as Pierce took a sip of his champagne, blue eyes darting around the room, and then returning to his guests with a forced jovial laugh.

“We’re running out of time,” Steve said into his discreet microphone. “Keep an eye out for unexpected visitors.”

“Isn’t he an _expected_  visitor by now?” Clint said, his voice tense.

Steve finished his drink and set the glass down on a nearby table. “I’m going in.”

“Twelve minutes,” Phil warned, watching Steve’s back.

HYDRA security guards walked into the room, looking around. Steve forced a smile onto his face and made his way towards Pierce, standing at a polite distance, waiting for the right moment to step in.

“Mr. Pierce, it’s an honor to finally meet you,” Steve said, stepping towards the older gentleman.

Pierce turned and looked at him, blue eyes narrowing slightly. “You look familiar, have we met before?”

Steve went into his aw-shucks routine. “Well, we might have, at the last one of these shindigs I imagine. My name is Christopher Evans. Of Evans Technologies.”

Pierce stared at him blankly for a moment and then broke into a wide smile. Steve shook Pierce’s hand firmly, clasping his other hand gently and slipping the clasp of the watch, stepping closer towards Pierce with a more intimate smile.

“The pleasure is mine, sir,” he whispered, smiling shyly. “I’ve admired you for so long, I admit that I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for years.”

Steve removed the watch from Pierce’s wrist and held his hands behind his back, straightening his shoulders. He felt Phil walk past him, brushing against his shoulder accidentally.

“Oh, my apologies,” he said, taking the watch from Steve.

Pierce laughed, meeting Steve’s eyes; he was utterly flattered and very interested. “Well, in that case, I must set aside some time for you later tonight. Have you been to the Basildon Room? They have a perfect replica of an 18th century Parisian marble fireplace. The architecture of the room is quite…stunning.”

Steve ducked his chin shyly and met Pierce’s predatory gaze. “I’d be honored.”

He wanted to vomit in his mouth.

The room trembled again, the chandelier above clinking as it shook. His time was running out; they still needed to get out of the hotel and out of Pierce’s dream.

“Well, then, I’ll see you there shortly,” Pierce said, dismissing him as he turned to talk to his other guests.

Steve gave a quick nod and walked slowly across the room, heading to one of the exits. The crowd of people in the ballroom seemed to have grown exponentially, causing him to bump into a few guests, causing a small commotion. He was starting to draw the attention of the HYDRA security guards, a tall, gruff looking man talking into his walkie-talkie as he stared at Steve, heading towards him.

“I’ve spotted the Winter Soldier,” Clint shouted into his earpiece. “Six o’clock! He’s heading to you, Cap!”

Steve heard the feedback loop through the room’s speakers and he winced, pulling the earpiece out and tucking it into his pocket.

“Exfil now,” Steve said into his microphone, pushing past the guests and hurrying out the exit door and running up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time, heading to the roof exit.

The building started shaking even more, chips of wall plaster falling on him. He was at the tenth floor now, the eleventh, the fourteenth. In the dream world, Steve could run up 47 flights without breaking a sweat. He burst out of the roof access door and saw Phil waiting for him, sliding the clip into his Sig Sauer and handing it to Steve.

“I already sent Hawkeye ahead. Make it quick,” Phil said, grinning slightly at Steve.

Steve shot him point blank between the eyes and pulled back the slide to chamber the next round for himself.

“Rogers.”

He turned to see Bucky walking towards him across the roof. He was dressed all in black, hair long and stringy, a messy stripe of black across his eyes. His left arm was silver and bore a red star. He stalked towards Steve, an ugly smile on his handsome face.

“Long time no see, Stevie,” he said, voice low and raspy.

“You can’t keep sabotaging my work, Buck,” he said, sadly.

“Don’t you miss me, sweetheart? Why did you leave me behind? What happened to the end of the line?”

Steve pressed the gun under his chin and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’ll always love you, Bucky.”

And pulled the trigger.

“—the fuck! What the hell took you so long?” Clint hissed at him, pulling the needle out of Steve’s wrist. “He’s going to wake up any second now!”

The steam of the sauna and the false-memory pain of shooting a bullet into his brain were disorienting, but Steve knew how to pull it together. He looked over to Alexander Pierce starting to stir; Phil carefully pulling the line out of Pierce’s wrist. He placed his fingers against Pierce’s throat, checking his pulse, and nodded to Steve.

Clint picked up the PASIV as Phil gathered up all the lines, closing the silver case. They left the sauna quietly and discreetly, pulling off the “Closed for Repairs” sign that they had taped up after Pierce took his usual 2 o’clock room.

“Nat and Bruce have the van out back,” Clint said, leading the way out of the private health club’s labyrinthine halls to the exit doors at the street level.

Bruce pushed the van’s side door open and Phil, Clint, and Steve slipped into the van, Steve pulling the door shut behind him.

“Let’s go,” Steve said to Natasha, nodding to her.

“Did you get it?” Bruce said, turning around to look at Steve.

“Yes,” Steve told him, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his totem. He bounced it on the floor of the van, catching it in his hand. He knew that if it bounced, that he was back in the Real World. He took a deep breath and put his totem back into his pocket. “Bucky was there.”

The silence of the van was a heavy chill.

Natasha looked at Steve through the rearview mirror. “Who the hell is Bucky?”


	8. Blind Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-military service AU: Steve/Bucky
> 
> PROMPT 3: I reserved a table for one as part of my “join the world as a civilian” plan but the hostess said that someone with my name is already there…and oh boy, fake me is hot.
> 
> PROMPT 4: I walked into this restaurant and you thought I was your blind date and I just kind of went with it because you’re gorgeous and nervous and I didn’t want to eat alone 
> 
> Author's Note: I combined these two prompts together.

 

Transitioning back into the civilian world was harder than the support group at the VA reported. Bucky thought that they were probably trying to be positive and optimistic, not wanting to scare him off from making his first attempt.

The support group leader kept talking about taking small steps, making a realistic milestone and reaching for it, and if he couldn’t quite get there, it was the “getting there” part that was worth it.

_“It’s the journey, not just the destination,” Sam said, at their group meetings. “And don’t beat yourself up if you have a hard time even making that first step; the fact that you’re even trying, you have to give yourself some credit for that. The rest is follow-through, and all of you know how to do that. You can do it in a field of battle, following through when the shit’s going down, when your CO gets shot, when your team is pinned down and you have to make that run as decoy to buy your team a few precious seconds.”_

Bucky much preferred that than walking into the veteran-friendly restaurant that Sam’s friend, oddly named Thor Odinson, owned. “Hammer” was a weird name for a restaurant, but to each their own, Bucky thought.

The restaurant was located just a few blocks from the VA Center, and Sam and Thor were running buddies. When Sam had told Thor about how hard it was for returning soldiers finding safe, vet-friendly places, Thor immediately made “Hammer” a place where vets could learn to get their civilian feet wet. Thor employed a number of former vets in his restaurant; and he flew the American flag as well as a number of Nordic national flags outside of his cozy downtown place.

Bucky shoved his hands into his jacket pocket and took a deep breath, taking a step towards the heavy looking wood and glass doors. He reached out and tugged the door open, the sudden flood of noise – people talking, laughing, music playing in the background, the clink of glasses – overwhelming Bucky’s senses. He nearly took a step back and out into the street, but the perky young Maitre’D saw him and smiled, waving for him to come towards her podium.

“Hi! I’m Darcy, welcome to Hammer! Do you have a reservation?”

Bucky looked around, a bit wide-eyed, and he shook his head. “No—no reservation. I just…Sam said to come…”

“Oh! Did Sam Wilson send you?” She said, her expression less perky and more friendly and compassionate. “How about if I set you up at the bar for a mo and then I’ll find you a quiet table if you’re ready?”

“Thank you,” he said, nodding quickly.

“Follow me,” she said, looking over at the bar and seeing that it wasn’t quite full up yet. “I see a spot with your name on it.”

He trailed after her through a friendly crowd that parted for them without too much trouble. A moment later, Bucky was parked on a comfortable leather stool with Darcy putting a bar menu in his hand. She waved to get the bartender’s attention, pointing at Bucky, and then making an “OK” with her fingers.

“The bartender’s name is Clint; he’ll be with you in half a sec. Holler at me if you need anything, got it?”

Bucky grinned and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” she said, winking at him and then sauntered off back to her place at the front of the lobby.

“Hey. Jimmy?”

No one called him Jimmy; who would know him here? He turned to the sound of a low, masculine voice, and looked up to see a very handsome man smiling shyly at him. He had dark blond hair, cut in a style that was one-time military but had grown out, and he was built like an athlete, wide shoulders and lean muscles. His dark blue sleeves were rolled back up to his elbows and Bucky stared at the long ropes of veins under tanned skin.

“Uh…hi?”

“I’m Steve?” He said, expectantly. His eyes were blue and he stared at Bucky like he should know what to do next.

“I’m Bucky.”

“Not Jimmy?”

Bucky shrugged. “First name’s James, but no one calls me that. They all call me Bucky.”

“Bucky. I like it.” Steve smiled, taking a deep breath and sinking down on the leather stool beside him. “Thank goodness. I was walking around like some loaf and asking people if their name was ‘Jimmy.’ I’m pretty sure everyone here thinks I was trying to hit on them or something. The security guy was starting to give me the eye, if you know what I mean.”

Bucky cocked his head and stared at him. He wouldn’t qualify Steve as someone harmless, not with that build and his spit-and-polish military bearing and precisely ironed dress shirt, despite the fact that his shoulders were hunched slightly and a flush was crawling across his cheeks.

“So, um, can I buy you a drink?” Steve said, his eyes widening in hope. “It’s kind of hard to get the bartender’s attention but I think he felt sorry for me because we both thought you’d stood me up.”

Steve stood up and held up his hand, waving it to get Clint’s attention. Clint looked at Bucky and then winked at Steve and nodded to him.

“How long were you waiting?”

“Not long. Um, over an hour,” Steve said, settling back on the stool and grinning sheepishly at him. “Worth the wait. I’m glad you showed.” He gave a little shrug and looked at Bucky. “I guess it was kind of desperate of me to keep waiting? I mean, maybe you didn’t really want to meet me, but I guess you changed your mind and came anyway?”  

Bucky sighed, realizing that Steve had mistaken him for what sounded like a blind date. Who the hell would stand up Steve? He was gorgeous and didn’t seem to be a douchebag, at least, not that Bucky could tell. The night was young and this was turning out to be an interesting part of his “journey.”

He decided to see this through. “Sorry for making you wait, doll; who’d skip out on a date with you?”

Steve laughed and ran a hand over his hair. “Yeah, well, I’m really out of practice at this kind of thing. If you can’t already tell.”

“You’re doing all right,” Bucky said, smiling at him. “How long have you been out?”

Steve opened his mouth and then blinked a few times at him. “Um, excuse me?”

“Out of the service?” Bucky said, gesturing to Steve’s hair. “That’s a high and tight that’s grown out.”

“Oh!” Steve said, letting out a nervous laugh. He ran his hand over his hair again. “Yeah. I thought…never mind what I thought. Yeah. I was discharged about six months ago.”

“Special teams?” He said, looking at Steve carefully.

Steve gave Bucky a steady look. “How can you tell?”

“One duck can tell another duck in the same water,” he said, smirking slightly. “I was discharged on medical about three months ago.”

Bucky lifted his left shoulder, giving an awkward shrug. The prosthetic was state-of-the-art, a new biomecha arm that Stark Industries was beta testing on a handful of military vets. It was as near lifelike as a prosthetic could get to being like the real thing. Tony Stark had fitted his arm himself; a part of Bucky was still a bit star struck by the genius engineer, who had a deep sense of patriotism that didn’t make the tabloid sheets and a bawdy sense of humor that did. He liked Stark a lot and was glad to be one of his test subjects. Bucky had the option to get it skinned to look realistic, but he had asked to keep it unskinned, the silver metallic look of the arm speaking to his old love of science fiction.

Steve glanced at his left arm and then gave Bucky a small smile. “Welcome home, soldier.”

“Sergeant.”

“Welcome home, Sergeant Bucky.”

Bucky chuckled, feeling the edges of his mouth lift into his cheeks. It felt odd on his face; an old memory that was coming back to him. It had been a long time since he smiled and used those muscles.

“Thanks. What about you?”

“Captain. Army. I was with the 107th.”

Bucky frowned slightly. “I had some buddies on special teams in the 1-0-7. Ever heard of the Howling Commandos?”  

“They’re my men. Were, I mean, now that I’m retired.”

“You’re Captain Steve Rogers?” Bucky said, sitting up straight and looking at him. “The boys had a nickname for you.”

Steve grinned and shook his head. “Yeah. Captain America.”

“Damn, sir, you’re a living legend, Cap,” he said, smiling at Steve. “I feel like I need to salute you.”

“No, no, don’t sir me or salute me,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m a civvie now, just like you.”

“You boys ready to for drinks?” Clint said, leaning his hands on the edge of the bar and smirking at them. “Your boy finally show up, Rogers?” He gave Bucky a look over. “He’s a fine one, worth the wait, huh?”

“Clint, this is Bucky,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “Bucky, this is Clint. He’s a smartass, just ignore him.”

“So, gents, what’ll it be?”

They both ordered beers from the tap and Clint grinned from ear to ear, looking at the two of them. Bucky noticed that at the other end of the bar, a few people were waving their hands, trying to get Clint’s attention.

“He’s deaf,” Bucky finally figured out, getting a look at the hearing aid in Clint’s right ear.

“Hold your horses!” Clint called down the bar. “I can hear you waving at me, for god’s sake!”

Steve smiled and nodded. “He’s really good at reading lips. Honestly, I think he can hear pretty well, but he just likes messing with people.”

Bucky laughed, finding that funny. He liked Clint a lot; liked knowing that a disability wasn’t something to pity.

“He’s good people, one of us,” Steve said, meaningfully.

Ahhh…a vet then, like them. Bucky nodded his thanks when Clint delivered their drinks, then hurried down to the other end of the bar, joking with the patrons and pretending to mishear whatever it was that they said. There was a lot of rollicking laughter. Bucky looked down to the other end to see a tall man with long blond hair, throwing his head back with a deep, booming laugh.

“That’s Thor, the owner,” Steve said, looking over his shoulder, a fond grin on his face. “He’s a great guy. He can get kind of huggy, but it kind of works for him.”

“Steven!” Thor called, walking towards them, his arms in the air.

Steve got to his feet and was immediately engulfed in Thor’s arms, lifted off his feet in a hearty hug. Thor Odinson was about a half a foot taller than Steve and built even wider at the shoulders. He was dressed in a tailored black suit and dark red shirt. The long hair and dress clothes suited the man; his natural charisma seemed to fill the space around him, giving him the air of a happily guileless and gentle giant.

“Friend Steven! It is good to see you again!”

“Thanks Thor,” Steve said, gasping slightly, reaching back to thump heartily on Thor’s back. “Good to see you too, big guy.”

Bucky got to his feet and gave a wary smile when Thor put Steve down. He smiled widely at Bucky and then looked at Steve.

“I see that your plan to make a new beau has come to fruition! He is very handsome to look upon,” Thor announced, patting Steve on the back and nearly knocking him off his feet. “I would like to meet your beau.”

“Um…sure. This is Bucky…?”

“Barnes,” he said, holding out his hand. “Bucky Barnes. Nice to meet you, Thor.”

“The pleasure is mine, friend Bucky. I hope that you will patronage my restaurant again in the future. It is good to have more shield brothers under my roof,” Thor said, shaking Bucky’s hand in a firm, but friendly, grip. “You will have to stay and try my special. It is the fried herring in pickling liquor. A masterful recipe, if I may claim such a thing.”

Bucky turned to see Steve’s face turn a bit green and he held back a laugh.

“Uhhhh…okay?” Steve mumbled, looking panicked at Bucky.

“Thor, it sounds utterly delightful, but my stomach is still getting used to civilian foods after eating MREs for a year,” Bucky said, shyly. “I think the only risky thing I could take right now is just a simple burger.”

Thor nodded, understandingly. “Of course, friend Bucky; but later, when you have returned to your full gastronomical strength, you have to try some of my best fares.”

Bucky chuckled. “No doubt.”

Steve slipped him a pleased smile.

“Good,” Thor said, nodding at them. “I must check on my other patrons. If you require a table for your evening meal, I will ask Darcy to find a romantic spot for the two of you.”

“Roman—what? No, it’s okay, Thor,” Steve bumbled out, laughing nervously.

“Ah! I forget that you are a man of discretion and valor, friend Steven,” Thor said, uproariously. “Fear not, we will find a special place for you. Have a fair eve, my friends!”

And then Thor was off, regaling other patrons with his unique blend of non-filtered conversational delights.

Steve sighed, his shoulders sagging, giving Bucky a nervous grin. “You…get used to him?”

“I like him,” Bucky announced, smiling at the way Steve grinned at him, pleased with Bucky’s verdict. “I like it here a lot. I…I have a hard time going to public places and my VA support group suggested that I come here to ‘Hammer’ because it’s a vet-friendly place. I wasn’t going to come, but I’m glad that I did.”

“I’m glad, too,” Steve said, smiling shyly at Bucky.

“I should come clean about something, though,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I’m not the guy that you were waiting for. I’m not your blind date, Steve.”

Steve nodded and took that calmly. He didn’t even seem mad or disturbed by Bucky’s confession. “I should tell you something, too. I wasn’t waiting for a blind date.”  

Bucky raised his eyebrow. “But then how did you know my name was James?”

Steve barked out an incredulous laugh. “I just took a guess on a popular boy’s name! It was either that or I was going with Michael.”

He made a face and laughed. “Terrible choice. I don’t even look like a Michael. What was your next move if my name wasn’t Jimmy?”

“Oh…I was just…going to keep faking it and draw you in with my flirting skills,” Steve said, deadpan.

Bucky laughed and then reached out with his right hand and curled it over Steve’s shoulder, giving him an affectionate squeeze. He took a deep breath and stood straight, looking into Steve’s very pretty blue eyes.

He held out his hand. “My name is James Buchanan Barnes, but my friends call me Bucky.”

Steve shook his hand and held on. “Steve Rogers. I hope that I’ll be someone who’ll earn the right to call you friend.”

Bucky grinned and winked at him. “Maybe more…if you’re lucky.”

Steve chuckled and nodded. “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, smiling at him. “Yeah, I really would.”


	9. Print to Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: You print stuff out on my wireless printer – you’re an actor because you’ve been printing out your headshot and resume and you are so beautiful
> 
> Pairing: Steve/Bucky
> 
> Image: Google

[ ](http://s769.photobucket.com/user/house_of_lantis/media/barnes2.png.html)

 

 On Saturdays, Steve liked to curl up on his couch, eat far too many chocolate covered almonds, and marathon a random TV show on Netflix. Today found him completely enraptured by “House of Cards” and he had spent far too much time lazying about in his small Brooklyn apartment, his laptop plugged into his TV, and unable to look away from the machinations of the two power hungry Underwoods.

He was reaching for the almost empty container of chocolate almonds when he heard the familiar click and whir of his printer engaging. He pushed up on his elbows and frowned, looking around his apartment, stupidly wondering why his laptop was printing something.

He got to his feet and walked to his desk, arms crossed as he watched the printer roll out a full color picture of a very attractive face.

“Well, hello there,” he murmured, picking up what looked like a headshot photograph of a man named James Barnes.

It was a very pretty face, almost familiar in a way, with a pair of gorgeous blue eyes, and a bit of scruff and long hair that was probably naturally wavy. He wore a royal blue button-down shirt, which was a good choice because it complemented James’s blue eyes, his pale pink lips, and healthy complexion. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who was vain about his looks; confident and a little playful with his smile and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

Steve narrowed his eyes and stared at the picture, trying to remember if he ever saw James in their building. Maybe there was that one time when he saw a man wearing a baseball hat leaving on a bicycle.

The printer engaged again and began to print out the professional acting resume for James Barnes. Steve waited for it to finish printing, wondering if there was a contact number for James. He could just imagine James’s frustration, wondering why his printer wasn’t working. It must be a wireless network issue, Steve thought, curious how an actor’s resume looked like.

James listed his home address as 255 Ainsley Street, Brooklyn, but no apartment number; he had an agent named Alexander Pierce with HYDRA Entertainment Agency. Steve wasn’t that familiar with Hollywood stuff, but even he had heard of HYDRA Entertainment. They only represented A-List actors and took on up-and-coming talent. Steve remembered overhearing office gossip about a famous actress suing HYDRA for mismanaging several million dollars in her salary. He hoped that James Barnes was getting his share of his money.

Steve continued reading, his eyebrows lifting in pleased surprise at the familiar titles of movies and TV shows that James was on. He had a lot of supporting roles and seemed to be just starting to take on lead roles; Steve itched to see if the titles were on Netflix and to get online and look up James Barnes on Wikipedia or IMDB. It was kind of exciting to know that there was a professional working actor living in the same building.

There were only seven units in their small brownstone, but Steve hadn’t met most of the people who lived in the building. There were two units on each floor, three floors total, and a unit in the basement that was for the brownstone’s resident handyman, Clint. Most of the units were modest, loft-type apartments, the top two units were one-bedroom apartments. The only thing Steve knew about his neighbor in 2A, Natasha, was that she traveled a lot for work and he never knew when she was actually home.  Steve kept fairly regular work hours as a well-paid prototype designer for Stark Industries.

Surely, Steve would have recognized seeing James – if anything because the man was gorgeous and was no doubt a head turner.  

The printer started going through another print cycle and Steve hit the OFF button quickly; no sense in wasting through anymore of the color ink in his printer.

“Sorry, James,” Steve murmured, making a face. He looked at the resume again and didn’t find any contact information, but there was an email address. “Well…it couldn’t hurt; at least it’ll ease his mind that he’s not going crazy or anything.”

He walked back to the couch, bringing the two pieces of paper with him and setting it on the coffee table next to his laptop. He opened his GMAIL account and typed in [JBBARNES@gmail.com](mailto:JBBARNES@gmail.com) and sent off a brief message:

_Hi James,_

_I’m Steve Rogers, your neighbor in apartment 2B. I’ve been receiving print outs of his photograph and resume on my wireless printer. I just wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t be going crazy wondering why it wasn’t printing on your printer._

_Steve_

Good deed done, he grinned and rewound the timeline for the latest episode and leaned back on his couch, pulling one of the plush couch pillows into his arms. He was just settling in when there was a knock on his door. He got to his feet and checked the eye hole and inhaled sharply when he saw James Barnes standing outside his door.

Taking a few calming breaths, he smoothed down his hair and his rumpled Stark Industries tee-shirt and sweatpants, and then unlocked the bolts, opening the door.

“Hey,” James said, giving a nervous smile. “I got your email. Hey, man, I’m sorry about wasting your printer ink. I’ll pay you back if—“

“No, no, it’s okay,” Steve said, licking his lips and trying not to stare. James Barnes was even prettier in real life. The picture didn’t do justice to the color of his eyes – blue with a bit of gray – or to the width of his shoulders and the muscles in his arms.

James laughed, running a hand over his face. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ve been trying to get my wireless printer to print for the last hour and nothing was coming out. I spent twenty minutes on the phone talking to their customer service rep – neither of us could figure out what was wrong. I swear, for just a minute, I thought that my apartment was haunted by a ghost or something.”

“Well, I’m glad you know that your apartment’s not haunted,” he said, trying not to stare. He cleared his throat. “It could’ve been worse; you could’ve been trying to print out your bank statement or confidential documents or something.”

“Right; or you know, my nudes,” James said, barking out a laugh that sounded nervous and forced. Steve raised his eyebrows and pressed his lips together, grinning. “Not that I have nudes!” James winced and then laughed at himself, shaking his head. “Don’t listen to me, I’m still kind of anxious from my audition this afternoon and the printer mess and…”

“Hey, you want to come in for a drink? A beer?”

James took a deep breath and smiled. “You know, I’d love a beer, thanks Steve.”

He waved James into his apartment. “Take a seat; you sound like you could use a break.”

Steve gathered two beers from his fridge, popped up the tops, and walked back into the living room. James was holding the print outs in his hands, a rueful smile on his lips. He set them down when Steve handed him the bottle.

“Thanks,” James said, sitting back on the couch and taking a long drink.

“So…James—“

“Bucky.”

“Pardon?”

“My name – well, my nickname – is Bucky,” he said, grinning.

Steve smiled, finding the nickname fitting. “Bucky. Okay. So…you had an audition this afternoon?”

“Yeah,” he said, setting the beer on his knee and looking at Steve. “My new agent, he’s really aggressive, he wants me to stop fucking around in small indie movies and start working on mainstream, big studio jobs. In the past month, I’ve gone to about 120 auditions and callbacks and table readings and photo shoots and costume fittings…it’s kind of been overwhelming, to be honest.” He took a deep breath and sighed. “Not that I have anything to complain about – and I’m not complaining – since this is what I want to do for the rest of my life, but it’s just that…I think my career is getting on a certain kind of track now and I don’t know if I’m ready for…everything.”

“Wow,” Steve said, not knowing what else to say.

James – Bucky – made a face and rolled his eyes. “Sorry, man, I’m just whining. I don’t want to be one of those douchebags who talks about himself and being an ‘ _act-tor’_ and all that bullshit.”

“What do you love doing more?”

Bucky grinned. “Honestly? Theatre. It’s my first love; a live audience, instant feedback. It’s kind of addicting…but you can’t really get paid as a lowly theatre actor.”

“Which is why your new agent wants you to try for the bigger movies.”

“They come with bigger paychecks and my agent gets a bigger percentage. Yeah,” Bucky murmured, thumbnail picking at the paper label of the beer bottle. “Anyway…so, Steve Rogers, what do you do?”

Steve laughed, rolling his eyes. “I work for Stark Industries; I design prototypes.”

Bucky turned and stared at him. “So what’s Tony Stark really like?”

“Genius, billionaire, philanthropist, playboy.”

“Do you get to see the big man at all? He’s like totally hidden up in his Tower, right? Unless he’s rolling through the city in one of his expensive cars and trolling for hotties.”

Steve shrugged. “I work FOR him, actually. I’m one of his primary prototype designers, before his designs go to Stark R&D division. He sends me a bunch of blue prints and I try to decipher their meaning and redesign his ideas into something that people can read. He’s brilliant, actually; take away his tabloid reputation and he’s just a mechanic at heart.”

Bucky bit his bottom lip and gave Steve a teasing smile. “Someone’s got a little crush, huh?”

Steve felt his face heat up a little, but he laughed and shook his head. “I’m pretty sure a guy like Tony Stark is way out of my league.”

“Hell, don’t sweat it, man, I have a little crush on Tony Stark, too,” Bucky said, chuckling deeply. Steve watched as Bucky got a faraway look in his blue eyes, something thoughtful and sad in them. “Just because a person has all that money and fame and celebrity…it might not mean nothing, you know? I mean, people forget that even famous people are, at the end of the day, just people, like you and me.” He took a deep breath, eyebrows rising high on his forehead. “Anyway, it sounds like you actually get to know a Tony Stark that none of us ever will.”

Steve took a sip of his beer. “So when you get to be one of those famous people, I’ll remember to quote you, if anyone ever asks. I’ll say that I knew Bucky Barnes when he was doing theatre and indie movies and that he was always a down-to-earth kind of guy.”

Bucky looked at him. “You swear?”

“Not in front of my ma,” he said, chuckling.

Bucky rolled his eyes and smirked. “You a Brooklyn boy? I can hear your accent.”

“Born and bred,” he said, cocking his head and looking at Bucky. “But you’re not, even though you kind of slip into a New York accent now and then.”

“No, from Indiana, originally,” he said, leaning back into the couch. “Came out here to go to NYU; I started doing a lot of stage work pretty much from the start.”

“Hey, do me a favor, okay? Will you autograph your photo for me?” Steve said, smiling at him. “I’m going to put it in my office; I bet there are people in my office who’ll recognize you.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes and gave him a mock glare. “Are you saying that YOU didn’t recognize me, punk?”

“I was going to look up your IMBD later,” he admitted, chuckling. “I’ve heard of the stuff that you’ve been in, though. I’m sure if I watched it again, I’d recognize you.”

“Story of my life,” Bucky said, laughing softly.

Steve watched as Bucky sat up, putting his beer bottle on the table, and rooted around the coffee table for a pen. He uncapped it and stared at his headshot for a moment, then signed his name on the bottom right corner.

“Better keep good care of it; might be worth something on eBay someday,” Bucky teased, putting the cap back on the pen and setting it down next to Steve’s sketchbook.

“I’m sure it will,” Steve said, good-naturedly. He chuckled and shook his head. “You know that if you do become a famous celebrity that I’m not going to say anything about you in public, right? I was just kidding about that. Discretion and privacy mean something to me.”

Bucky smiled at him, the edges of his eyes crinkling. “I’m really enjoying the fact that you seem to know that I’m going to be a famous celebrity one day. Thanks, man, I appreciate the support.”

“Hey! I’m totally going to be your number one fan…as soon as I go back and watch your stuff again so I can remember what role you had.”

Bucky gave him an incredulous look and then his handsome face broke into a wide smile; a deep, throaty laughter spilling from his mouth.

“You’re a punk, aren’t you, Stevie?”

“Guilty as charged.” He felt his face heat from the affectionate nickname.

They smiled at each other for a long moment, letting the eye contact linger beyond simple acquaintance level of contact.

“Now that the mystery of the wireless printer is solved, I’ll get out of your hair,” Bucky said, softly, getting to his feet slowly.

Steve followed, trying to rack his brain to come up with something to say that would get Bucky to stay for a little while longer. “Sure, yeah, yeah…”

“Thanks for the beer, Steve.”

“Anytime, Bucky,” he murmured, following Bucky to his door. “You know…”

Bucky turned and looked up at him. “Yeah?”

“Which apartment are you in? How can we live in the same building and not even run into each other once?”

“I’m in 1A,” he said, smiling at him. “You probably don’t see me a lot because of the weird hours. I work like three part-time jobs in between acting gigs so…and I go out the back door. It’s easier since I have my bike chained up there.”

Steve smiled and nodded, swallowing thickly. “So, Buck, if you have a night free soon…maybe you’d like to go out to dinner with me?”

“Like on a date?” Bucky said, licking his bottom lip.

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes glued to Bucky’s pink tongue. He met Bucky’s eyes and blushed, caught out while staring at Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky licked his bottom lip again and cocked his head to the side. “Yeah, Stevie, I’d like that.”


	10. Outlaws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sam Wilson tells Steve Rogers that he’s found the best con artist/pickpocket in NYC, guy named Bucky Barnes. He’s an actor, off-Broadway, not too bad. Sam says that Steve should go check him out. 
> 
> Pairing: Steve/Bucky 
> 
> Author's Note: I love this original prompt with all the RL boys from the Marvel franchise.

BASED ON THIS AWESOME TUMBLR SET: [http://superanarchy.tumblr.com/post/121610743164/do-you-realise-how-much-i-need-an-au-based-on ](http://superanarchy.tumblr.com/post/121610743164/do-you-realise-how-much-i-need-an-au-based-on%20)

 

_“He’s got the best fingers in the business.”_

_Steve made a face and turned to look at Sam. “What—“_

_“I meant that he’s the best con artist-slash-pickpocket in New York City,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “Guy named Bucky Barnes.”_

_“His name is Bucky?” Steve said, sighing deeply. “Sam, are you sure he’s the best you can find?”_

_Sam gave him a long look. “The best, Rogers; you’re not going to find anyone better.”_

_“All right, I’ll go talk to him. Where can I find him?”_

Which was why Steve was sitting in the audience of the small Bleecker Street Theatre watching a play called “Picnic”? Bucky, whose first name was James, Barnes was currently starring as bad boy Hal Carter, who frankly spent the majority of the play shirtless and glistening with oil. Though, Steve had to admit that Bucky was very watchable and he enjoyed Bucky’s charming, impulsive, harsh, and insecure portrayal of the character.

Steve stood politely with the other members of the audience as the cast members came out to take their final bows. He lingered, pretending to join conversations with other theatre-goers, delaying his exit. He made his way to the men’s room, hiding out for about half an hour, and then silently made his way to the backstage areas. The security in the theatre was horrible; Steve overheard the actors talking about going to the bar across the street from the theatre for drinks.

Quickly, Steve left the theatre and took up a spot near the bar, hanging outside on the sidewalk with the smokers, chatting about nothing in particular as he kept an eye out for the actors to leave the theatre, cross the street, and head into the bar. He saw that Bucky was with them, his hair still damp and combed back, curling at the ends.

Steve made his way inside, flagged down the bartender for a gin and tonic, and scoped out the bar. It wasn’t packed, but just crowded enough to make conversations interesting. He saw that Bucky and the actors had found room on the other side of the room, near the bar, holding court like they were regulars.

He sipped on his drink, flicking his eyes towards Bucky until their eyes met. Steve gave a small smile, holding Bucky’s attention for a moment. He watched as Bucky lifted his chin, looking past the people at the bar, to check him out. Steve licked his lips and grinned, looking at Bucky from the corner of his eye.

It wasn’t long before Bucky pulled away from his friends and made his way towards Steve. He laughed, shaking hands with various people along the way, stumbling slightly against Steve’s side. The warmth of his breath against Steve’s ear sent a shiver down Steve’s spine…but not enough to disguise the fact that Bucky had touched him in search of his wallet.

Steve didn’t bring his real wallet, knowing that if he met up with Bucky, the pickpocket would most likely slip it from him. He used an old, worn leather wallet, filled it with a few small bills, a subway pass, and a note with Steve’s phone number. He kept it in the right back pocket of his jeans. Sitting on the stool would give Bucky a bit of a challenge; and Steve wanted to see him in action.

“Sorry, sorry, man,” Bucky said, breathless and giddy, hands gently sliding across his shoulders and down to his lower back. For anyone else, it would’ve felt affectionate, maybe intimate, but Steve knew when he was being patted down. Bucky stayed close to Steve, looking into his eyes. “I think you were sitting in the audience, am I right?”

Steve smiled, playing up his natural shyness. “You were really good.”

“Just good, huh?” Bucky murmured, smirking up at him. “I’m sure I’m more than just good. Don’t you think?”

He leaned against the bar and sighed, picking up Steve’s drink and finishing it down.

“Hey, that’s my—“  

“How’re you going to let me buy you a drink if you haven’t even finished your first one?” Bucky said, turning his head and raising his hand for the bartender. “Sal, gimme a rum and coke and the cutie another gin and tonic.”

Sal, the bartender, gave Bucky an amused look. “Sure, Buck.”

“Thanks,” he called, chuckling. “Add it to my tab.”

Bucky turned and gave Steve his full attention. “So, cutie, what’s your name?”

“Steve,” he said, meeting Bucky’s eyes.

“Well, Stevie, tell me about yourself.”

Steve laughed and rolled his eyes. “Kind of cliché to go with that opening. I’m still waiting to see you being more than just good.”

Bucky’s smile turned wicked, the challenge lighting his eyes. “Ohhh, you’re going to sass me now, is that it, Stevie?”

“You seem like a man who can take it.”

“Why don’t we finish our drinks and you can take me back to your place and I can show you how I take it,” Bucky said, leaning closer to him, his hand sliding down Steve’s lower back to his ass, fingers tucked against the edge of the stool, just under Steve’s wallet.

And then Bucky’s warmth was gone, the press of his body moving away, and Steve actually felt himself move forward towards Bucky, trying to close that distance between them. It was by only a few inches, but it felt like a gulf. Steve wanted to take Bucky by the hips and drag him back in.

Sal brought their drinks and Steve moved to grab his wallet – which he knew wasn’t there anymore – but Bucky chuckled and stopped him, his hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“It’s on my tab, cutie,” Bucky drawled, tilting his chin up and staring down at Steve. “I’m going to hit the head and we’ll finish our drinks and leave. What do you say?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

“Don’t move from your spot, cutie,” Bucky teased, warningly, and ran his hand over Steve’s shoulder as he moved past him to the back of the bar.

Steve watched him leave and counted to ten before sliding off the stool and following Bucky out the back to the exit door for the alley. He stepped out and looked right and then left and saw Bucky walking quickly out of the alley to the street. Steve followed, keeping his footsteps quiet, running when Bucky turned the corner back onto Bleecker Street.

He grabbed Bucky’s arm quickly and tugged him into the next alley.

“Hey! What the fuck, man!”

Steve slammed him against the brick wall, left hand on Bucky’s shoulder, thumb pressing hard on his collar bone.

“Shut up, Barnes,” he hissed, running his right hand over Bucky’s chest, his jacket pockets, and down his ass to the back pockets of his jeans. He pulled out his wallet and grinned, putting it into his jacket pocket.

“All right, you caught me,” Bucky said, smiling at him. “It was just a joke.”

“You really need to work on your technique,” Steve told him, letting go of Bucky’s shoulder and taking a step back. “You’re going to find a mark who doesn’t like to be touched like that from the get go. I’m surprised you don’t get punched for taking liberties.”

Bucky chuckled, rolling his eyes. “My technique works fine, Steve. If your name even is Steve.”

“My name is Steve Rogers,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Sam Wilson told me that you’re the best in the business. I think you’re good, like the way that I think your acting is good, but it’s small-time at best, pure luck at worst.”

“Everybody wants to be a fucking critic,” Bucky said, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m just calling it as I see it.”

“Fuck you, man, I’m doing fine without your opinion,” he growled, pushing off the brick wall.

Steve pushed him back, his hands against the wall on either side of Bucky’s head. He smiled and leaned in closer.

“I think you have promise,” he murmured, meeting Bucky’s annoyed gaze. “I think you can go all the way to the big-time.” He slid his nose along Bucky’s cheek, brushing his lips against his jaw. “You can write your own ticket; financial security in your pocket so you can work on your acting.”

“What’re you offering?” Bucky whispered, his hands curling over Steve’s hips.

“I’m putting a team together for a job,” Steve said, simply. “It’s risky, dangerous, but the rewards will be worth it.”

Bucky smirked. “Are you one of the rewards?”

Steve laughed, meeting Bucky’s eyes. “If you play your cards right, I might be.”

“All right, then I’m in.”


	11. Mr. Esquire (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve/Bucky flirtation
> 
> Author's Note: This is totally a vanity project. HAHAHAHA!

[Read Previous Chapter Here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3922327/chapters/12504215)

 

**Adventures in Brooklyn with Captain America**

Written by James B. Barnes

Senior Staff Writer, ESQUIRE MAGAZINE

 

Forget everything you’ve ever heard of Steve Rogers.

Let me start with this: I swear that I went into this interview thinking that it was going to be easy-peasy; just another celebrity fluff piece. Like so many of his Hollywood contemporaries before him who had jumped on the soapbox to express their angst or tout their latest pet projects, what new perspective could he bring to the masses that we haven’t already heard of before? Except Steve Rogers was notoriously shy about giving interviews outside of the press that he did, under contract, for his work. There were a lot of rumors, speculation, and misconceptions about him: he was standoffish, he was arrogant, he suffered from severe social anxiety, he was paranoid and delusional, he hated talking about himself, he thought he was above doing interviews, he thought all reporters were scum, he had a horrible fill-in-the-blank experience with an interviewer and refused to do them now without a legion of legal eagle bodyguards, and when he hit the A-List, he didn’t feel like he needed to explain himself to anyone.

All of it was untrue.

Steve Rogers was dressed in a non-descript pair of khaki pants, burgundy tee-shirt, and navy jacket. He worse a baseball cap pulled down low. He had asked to meet at the Brooklyn Gallery Museum where he showed me his favorite art exhibits; then lunch in a Brooklyn hole-in-the-wall diner; and a walk through Prospect Park where Steve unexpectedly joined a non-permitted LGBTQ rally.

All in all, I never considered that the day long interview with the uncommonly polite box office movie star ended with the two of us getting arrested and spending two hours in jail.

***

Okay, back up: Steve Rogers grew up in a rough tenement suburb of Brooklyn, the only son of Joseph and Sarah Rogers. It was a long way from his multi-million mansion in Hollywood Hills. He was short and skinny with a host of medical ailments. When he was 12, he nearly died from pneumonia; but like the origin story of the superhero that he portrayed on the big screen, Steve Rogers wasn’t going to let a little thing like near-death keep him from fighting for what he believes was right.

Steve Rogers, 27 years old, had all-American clean cut good looks, and an “aw-shucks, yes ma’am” demeanor that doesn’t seem fake or off-putting. He was genuinely wholesome (I’ve heard people call him “boring”) and painfully sincere (I felt like a douchebag, like what was I doing with my life). When we first met outside the Brooklyn Gallery, Steve looked me in the eyes and shook my hand with a firm but not overpowering macho grip. He called me “Mr. Barnes.” I laughed in his face. See what I mean that I felt like a douchebag in the face of that kind of, for lack of a better word, niceness.

“Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to do that. I was just a little surprised by it and didn’t know if you meant to be patronizing or just nice,” I said, actually apologetic.

“Yeah, I am nice. I try to be polite. My mother said that manners didn’t cost anything; and when you grow up poor, manners is the last line of defense between living like a human being and failing the social contract,” Steve said, earnestly.

OK, seriously, who says things like that? For the past six years, that earnestness and brilliant toothpaste commercial smile have helped him rise above the usual caricature of the superhero to where Steve Rogers has reached iconic levels as Captain America.

“It was a fantastic role. I don’t think anyone could play a role like Cap over six years and eight movies and not walk away with some of his ideals finding their way into your everyday life.”

“Is it a burden to carry it off the set?”

Steve grinned and shook his head. “That’s never a burden.”

As we walked through the modern impressionist exhibit, Steve talked about getting his start in high school drama club, classes at Brooklyn Community College, and working in local acting gigs. Before his late-puberty growth spurt, Steve took on teen roles that played on his youthful looks and stature. And when he started working with a nutritionist and trainer, he began strength training and adding on more muscle. He transferred to The Julliard School on scholarship and used his New York contacts to get an agent, his SAG card, and steady work in TV commercials, indie movies, and his breakthrough role as Captain America.

“We’d been searching for the right actor to play the part and probably auditioned over 1,500 actors internationally, and then we met Steve, but he didn’t have a lot of experience in film at the time, however he had a certain type of natural charisma that combined confidence, sincerity, and really lovely manners,” said director, Joe Johnston. “The studios liked him, but they needed convincing; so we worked closely with Steve, put him in the costume, and pretty much just had him adlib a bunch of lines in a variety of Captain America situations. We once filmed him climbing a tree to rescue some kid’s cat. The studios perked up pretty fast after that and they called him in to audition about 15 times and finally gave us the green light. Steve handled it all with good humor; and to be perfectly honest, it was when we put him in his Captain America costume that sealed the deal.”

And his Captain America physique.

“Did you know that there are a lot of fans who call you Dorito?”

“I’m a Dorito?” He doesn’t really know what to make of that comparison.

“Yeah, perfect shoulder to hip ratio; think of an inverted triangle.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, that was just a lot of time in the gym, working about four months before principle photography,” Steve said, chuckling softly. “I had three trainers, four stunt choreographers, two dance teachers—“

“Dance teachers? Was there a Captain America song and dance number?” I said, laughing.

[Edit: Apparently, I should probably watch the movies as there was a song and dance number in the first Captain America movie.]

“No, well yes there was, but no, not for that, I mean Captain America is a graceful fighter whereas Steve Rogers is kind of a klutz; the dance teachers really helped me with the rhythm of the fight moves and to look really fluid and confident.”

“So what kind of dances did Steve Rogers learn?”

“Ballet and Salsa.”

“Would you like to show off some of your moves?”

Steve laughed. “No. Well, maybe…for the right partner.”

***

After eight consecutive movies as Captain America, Steve finally hung up the shield (and handed the role of Captain America off to close friend Sam Wilson who played sidekick Falcon in the series) and took a yearlong break where he fell off the Hollywood radar.

“What did you do?”

Steve looked thoughtful, his hands sliding into the pockets of his khaki pants, letting out a deep sigh. “I don’t really know if I want to say. I’m afraid that I’ll just come off as pretentious and self-serving.”

“Did you go soul searching in a monastery in Timbuktu or something?”

He grinned, giving a sidelong glance. “Sure, something like that.”

Steve promised to tell me later, off-the-record, and asked that I not print his answer.

[Edit: He did, and no, I’m not going to say. Though, I will add that it wasn’t pretentious or self-serving and it only added to my admiration of him.]

“So what was it like when you returned to Hollywood?”

“I think my agent was really glad,” he said, smiling widely. “And she gave me a stack of scripts and set up a lot of meetings with producers and studio executives; but I wanted to take a break from working on big movies. I wanted to go back to my indie movie roots.”

“How did you come about getting the role of the hearing-impaired painter?”

“Maria [Hill] slipped it into the stack of scripts. She knew what I wanted; knew that I was in a position to put my name on a movie and help them get financing. Really, it was a personal project. I really liked the writer [Wanda Maximoff] and the director [Natasha Romanoff]. I was friendly with their producer, Alexander [Pierce] and I called him about the project. We met and talked about it at his house; and I jumped at the chance to play the character.”

“What was the hardest part about playing the role?”

“Learning how to paint,” he said, grinning. “And it’s now one of my favorite hobbies. I’m not great at it, but I like to dabble.”

[Edit: Two days after our interview, Steve invited me to his Brooklyn apartment to show me several of his art pieces; he admitted that he has shown at a local art gallery under a pseudonym.]

***

Steve knew every hole-in-the-wall diner or restaurant in Brooklyn.

“I go to enough fancy places for work, which is fine, but I’m never really comfortable in a place like that; when it’s just me and my friends, we stay in the neighborhood and go to mom-and-pop places like we used to when we were younger.”

Unlike many Hollywood A-Listers, Steve doesn’t travel with an entourage, but has a scarily efficient and intimidatingly gorgeous personal assistant, Peggy Carter, his partner-in-crime from their days at Julliard; he stayed in touch with his neighborhood friends and has the keen ability to put on a hat and blend in with the locals.

“Even if they do recognize me, no one actually comes up to me or makes a big deal about it,” he said, shrugging. “I think that’s why I like living here; I’m just a kid from Brooklyn.”

Sure, a kid from Brooklyn with an Oscar nomination and an earning potential around $15 million per film.

“Yeah, it’s always nice to be recognized for your work by your peers,” he said, smiling kindly. “And I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t want to win. But at the end of the day, it’s one more movie under my belt, one more job that I think I did something good in, and one more step to my next project.”

“That’s kind of very humble pie – are you being real with me?”

“I’d say what you see is what you get, maybe part of that is true, but no one is ever going to really know so why try to defend it?” He said, his blue eyes bright with mischief. “I know people think I’m a throwback to the old days – whatever that means – or they think I’m vanilla and boring. I’m okay with that.”

[Edit: There is absolutely NOTHING boring about Steve Rogers.]

***

“I used to get beat up here a lot,” Steve said, pointing out an alley as we walked towards Prospect Park. “Got beat up here…yup, I’m pretty sure I got beat up there.”

“Do you just like getting punched or something?”

Steve laughed. “I don’t like bullies; but I was just a little over five-feet tall and weighed maybe 90 pounds. I got into a few scraps, standing up to guys who thought they could get away with it just because they were bigger. Sure, I probably landed in the ER a few times and scared my ma, but I always did it standing up.”

That sense of justice never left him; he was able to channel those feelings as Captain America in a cathartic manner, shedding some of the anger that was inside of him, growing up poor and angry.

“If I hadn’t caught on to acting, I’d probably be a masked vigilante,” he joked, looking sly. “Maybe don’t print that because if Peggy and Nick [Fury, his publicist] found out, they’ll give me an earful.”

[Edit: They did.]

All joking aside, I got to see Steve in action once we made our way into Prospect Park. There was a small group of people, a young woman on a bullhorn trying to build enthusiasm from the other 20-something hipsters surrounding her. They held a dozen handmade signs in their hands. There was a lot of glitter.

Steve was in raptures.

_Why Can’t I Be Equal, Too?_

_If God Hates Gays, Then Why Are Gays So Cute?_

_Legalize Love_

_Marriage Equality_

_Keep Calm and Fuck Homophobia_

Steve walked towards the group, listening intently, and talking to the people standing near him. He was asking about their cause and what they were rallying for or against.

“They’re protesting a Tea Party event on the other side of the park,” he said, walking back towards me. “I’m going to join them.”

“Are you kidding? We’re doing an interview—“

“I know, and I don’t expect you to join in,” he said, seriously. “There’s a Starbucks right there. I’ll buy you something to drink and if you’ll just wait an hour or two, I’ll be back and finish the interview.”

“You’re not kidding.”

“They’re going to let me hold a sign,” Steve said, excitedly. “I’m going to see if I can hold the ‘Keep Calm and Fuck Homophobia’ one.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“That’s great,” he said, blue eyes twinkling with absolute glee. “You won’t regret this.”

Famous last words.

We were arrested with the other 23 protestors for rallying without a permit and disrupting a political fundraiser.

***

“Peggy and Maria and Nick are going to yell at me,” Steve bemoaned, rubbing his hand over his face.

“Dude, who cares about them! When this hits the tabloids and the Oscar people find out, there goes your chance,” I said, sitting on the narrow bench and leaning back against the cement wall.

“Don’t worry, I called my lawyer, he’ll bail us both out in an hour.”

[Edit: Steve and I have our court appearance in three months. I’m making Steve pay for my legal fees.]

***

Standing outside the Brooklyn Precinct, Steve and I shook hands. Steve’s lawyer, a slick Manhattan guy with a neatly trimmed goatee and mustache, “call me Ironman, Barnesy,” handed me his business card and slapped me on the back before he ducked into a black limousine.

“Your lawyer has a limo. I think you’re paying him too much.”

Steve laughed. “He’s Tony Stark. You know, his family owns pretty much all of New York City.”

Tony Stark, who had a million dollar retainer, and represented the Saudi royal family’s interests in New York City, international movie star Steve Rogers, and now me.

“I’m so sorry for dragging you into this,” he said, unwaveringly, echoes of Captain America in his tone. “I take full responsibility and will accept the consequences. But Tony is a total shark; he’ll make sure it won’t go on your permanent record.”

I laughed at him.

“Hey, Buck, can I get your number?”

Sure, why the hell not. We exchanged phone numbers.

Steve smiled, his cheeks flushing. “I’ll text you.”

***

Two days later, I received a text from Steve Rogers inviting me to his gorgeous Brooklyn penthouse condo overlooking the East River, where he showed me his etchings.   


	12. What a Billionaire Wants - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairings: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes
> 
> Summary: The slow burn friendship-to-something-more story between Tony and Bucky.

[Previous Chapter ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3922327/chapters/12498614)

 

**The Waldorf-Astoria Hotel**

**The Empire Room**

 

Bucky hadn’t planned to attend. When he received the official invitation, embossed on thick cream paper with red foiled edges, he had called the RSVP telephone number to the event planner’s office and politely declined.

_“You don’t have to go,” Steve told him, a small smile on his lips. Bucky could tell that Steve was a little disappointed, but he could also read the relief in the lines of Steve’s shoulders. “It’s just that…we all thought it would nice for you to get out for a little bit. Maybe dance with some of the ladies, like in the old days.”_

_Bucky knew that in the old days, he was a bit of a flirt and a charmer, always up for a dance with a pretty dame._

_“Seems like those days are behind me, Steve,” he said, kindly. He couldn’t meet Steve’s eyes, knowing that he’d just see nothing but sadness there._

_It was starting to kind of tick him off that every time he looked at Steve, the punk looked like he just wanted to curl up around Bucky and cry._

_Despite Bucky’s slow and ongoing recovery, he wasn’t an Avenger and he didn’t want to work for SHIELD. He didn’t want to go back in the field of war. He didn’t know how Tony and Steve did it, but they breezed past government red tape and had all of his military back pay, hazard pay, POW-status allotments, plus interest, returned to Bucky._

_Tony gleefully presented Bucky with the check. “Four million, US, the government probably owes you a hell of a lot more, but hey, it’s tax free. Don’t spend it all in one place, Barnes.”_

_Bucky stared at the check, then up at Tony’s wide smile, and Steve’s smaller, sadder one, and then back down at the check again._

_“I guess I’m going to have to open up a bank account or something?”_

_Tony laughed and patted Bucky’s back. “I have a legion of financial experts; my favorite is Petunia – and yes, that’s her real name – and she’s the sharpest of the bunch. I’ll introduce you to her and she can take you on as a client.”_

_“She helped me with my back pay, too.” Steve grinned, a little shyly. “She’s real smart, Buck; she’ll teach you about banking and investing for the future. I’ll go with you, if you want.”_

_Once Petunia Harding got over being star struck by him, she proved herself to be extremely knowledgeable about money, and true to Steve’s word, taught Bucky a lot about banking. He watched Steve blush and act pretty gun shy and Bucky wondered if Steve had gotten a little crush on her._

_“She’s a mathematical genius,” Steve told him after they left Petunia’s office. “One time, I saw her rattle off some kind of complex math thing to a guy in the office who was trying to take my account from her. I didn’t understand a single thing she said, but whatever it was, the guy walked away looking like she’d shamed him in front of his mother and grandmother.” Steve laughed a little, shaking his head. “It was great!”_

_Bucky smiled; Steve always did have a type._

_Later, during lunch in the Stark Industries cafeteria, Steve broached the subject of what Bucky wanted to do._

_“Not fight, not kill, not hurt people,” he said, shrugging._

_“That leaves a whole lot open, Buck.”_

_Bucky took a deep breath. “I don’t have to choose anything right now, do I?”_

_“Of course not,” Steve said, shaking his head and reaching across the table to squeeze Bucky’s right arm. “You have all the time in the world to choose. I just don’t want you to feel left out or anything.”_

_“I don’t like it when you and the others have to go protect us from those assholes out there, but I can’t be out there with you anymore. I hate having to sit back and wait for all of you to come back in one piece but…it beats the alternative.”_

_Steve cocked his head and frowned. “What’s that?”_

_“The Asset coming back online,” Bucky told him, tapping the side of his head. “Not worth the risk.”_

_“Okay, Bucky, I trust you,” Steve said, smiling at him. He took a bite of his apple pie. “Did you get your invite to Stark’s party for next week?”_

_Bucky shrugged it off. “Hmmm…yeah.”_

_The other Avengers tried to convince Bucky to attend the event._

_“It’ll be fun! There’s going to be a ton of food!” Clint said, hanging out of the vent in Bucky’s bedroom. “If it gets boring, we’ll go exploring through their access passages. I heard that the Waldorf used to have these secret tunnels going all over the city so the rich folks didn’t have to use the streets with the rest of us.”_

_“Step into the light, James, let it warm you for an evening.” Black Widow told him, handing him a beautifully red apple._

_“We would find your presence at this party to be truly welcome! I have often enjoyed many a Migardian repast, especially hosted by our Man of Iron. There is much merriment to be had!” Thor said, enthusiastically._

_“I’m not much for parties either, Bucky,” Bruce said, shrugging awkwardly. “But, yeah, I kind of have to go. Otherwise, I’d rather just hang out here with you all night.”_

_“No pressure. But I had Simon make a few tuxedos for you. You know, just in case. But no pressure!” Tony said in his usual rapid-fire way, rushing across the living room to the elevators. “They’re getting delivered this afternoon! No pressure!”_

_Bucky stood in his living room with the four tuxedos delivered and spread out on the couch. He had spent a long time just admiring the workmanship of the jacket, the perfect cut of the fabric and the seams, the alignment of the buttons, the meticulous hand-stitching. They were works of art; nothing Bucky had ever owned in his life, past or present, was so beautifully made._

_And for him, just for him. These clothes wouldn’t fit another man’s body. The left shoulder and the left sleeve were just slightly wider to accommodate his metal arm. On another man, it would feel too loose, the fit would be off, but on Bucky, the jacket fit like a glove made just for him._

_“Sergeant Barnes, Miss Potts is on her way to you and requests if she could have a moment,” JARVIS said, softly._

_“Yes, that’s fine,” he said, looking at the tuxedos. Should he put them back into the garment bags? What would she think, seeing him staring at clothes, for God’s sake?_

_Too late, the elevator doors opened and Pepper Potts strolled into his living room, a warm smile on her lips._

_“James, I’m so glad – oh good, Simon had the tuxedos delivered,” she said, walking around the couch to stand beside him, gazing at the four suits._

_“Mr. Simon is a genius,” he said, shrugging._

_“Tony appreciates genius in other people,” Pepper said, smiling. She placed a slender hand on his left arm. “Go with the licorice black.”_

_“I’m not going to the event.”_

_She peered up at him, blue eyes meeting his. “It would mean a lot to Tony if you did. And to the others, too, of course.”_

_Bucky bit his bottom lip. “You sure? I mean…Tony really won’t mind having me there at his event?”_

_Pepper motioned her hand towards the four black tuxedos. “I realize that this is excessive, but it’s Tony, and traditionally, this is his way of ensuring that you don’t want to say no.”_

_“I doubt there are many people out there who’ve said no to Tony Stark.”_

_“Not a lot of people say no to Tony Stark,” she said, her face perfectly neutral. Bucky thought she was trying to tell him something without actually coming right out to say it, but he couldn’t figure out what it was exactly._

_“All right then, I’ll go,” he said, taking a deep breath. He stared at the four black tuxedos and frowned. “Which one’s the licorice black?”_

The Empire Room of the Waldorf-Astoria was usually done up in blue and gold, but for Tony Stark, they had changed out all the blue to red instead. There were about fifty circular tables situated around the room, a high-ceiling room – Bucky estimated it was 21-feet high – with dozens of expensive looking chandeliers hanging from the ceilings. There was a line of windows with arches lining one long wall with gold curtains neatly tied back and the lights of Park Avenue reflecting in the glass.

Bucky kept to the edges of the room, carefully keeping his back near the wall, eyes looking at the multiple entry and exit points. He calculated the distance to all of the Avengers around the room, how long it would take for Bucky to reach one of them in case something happened.

There were about 400 people attending the event – Tony called it a “small affair” – and the music was nice, the little finger food was tasty, the drinks flowed like water, and everyone was wearing their best. It kind of reminded Bucky of being back in the dance halls, but classier.

He watched as Tony worked the room, shaking hands with the men and leaning in to give a kiss on the cheek to the ladies. He smiled and laughed, moved his hands as he talked, and his audience was clearly enraptured by him. Bucky cocked his head and wondered how all these people would treat Tony if he weren’t a famous billionaire genius, if they’d all still cater to him if he was just a normal, smart guy.

_Tony laughed, hard and long. “Absolutely not. They all want me for my money; want me for what they think they can get from me.”_

_“How come you live like this if that’s all true?” Bucky said, making a face. “Never knowing who your real friends are.”_

_“I know who my real friends are,” he said, quietly. “Rhodey and Pepper.”_

_“What about Steve and the others? What about me?”_

_Tony smiled, but the smile didn’t reach Tony’s eyes. “You and Steve remind me a lot of me and Rhodey.”_

_“You don’t think I’m one of your friends, too?” He met Tony’s gaze when Tony didn’t say anything for the longest time. “I’m going to start feeling kind of insulted if you don’t answer.”_

Bucky sipped his champagne as he watched Tony talking with a small group of people across the room. He was surprised when Tony looked his way, giving Bucky a little head nod, and eventually freed himself from his group of admirers to make his way towards Bucky.

“Buckster, how’re you doing? Enjoying the party? Did you eat some of those little cream shrimp things, I can wave down a waiter and have him bring you some—“

“I ate some of everything,” he admitted, smiling a little. “They were good.”

Tony nodded, standing beside him to look out into the room. “Nice crowd, huh? The Stark Foundation probably raised a good $10 million tonight.”

“That’s great, Tony.”

“Good, good,” he said, nodding. He looked at Bucky, brown eyes looking him up and down. “You went with the licorice black. Good choice.”

Bucky laughed, shaking his head. “How can you tell the difference? They all look black to me. Even Pepper knew which one was licorice black.”

“Tricks of the trade,” Tony said, amusement in his words. “You look good, Barnes. Clean up really nice.”

“Thanks for the clothes,” he said, softly. “And the invite to your party.”

Tony waved his hand in the air, waving away Bucky’s thanks. Bucky really hated it when Tony did that; like his consideration for Bucky didn’t cost anything. Maybe it didn’t cost Tony much, but it felt like something to Bucky.

“What are friends for?” Tony said, chuckling at him.

Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes. “Friends are for a lot more than just buying them expensive stuff.”

Tony turned and looked up at him. “Pepper said that my obligations to the Foundation are done. My time is my own again. Want to get out of here?”

He frowned, looking around at all the people in the room. “You just want to ditch?”

“Sure, why not? The Foundation got a lot of new donations; Pepper’s happy with me. My job as Tony Stark is done,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I feel like getting some ice cream. You in?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Tony had his phone in his hand, texting quickly. “Happy’ll meet us out front. Come on, Buckster, I know the best ice cream place; it’ll knock your socks off.”

Bucky smiled, setting his champagne glass on a nearby table. He smoothed his hand down the front of his jacket and nodded at Tony. “All right, I’m in.”


	13. Hello, My Name is Steve, I’m a Sex Demon?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Steve just got turned into an Incubus and he’s like the least smooth and most self-conscious person on the planet so he’s literally starving because he doesn’t know how to seduce people to feed sexually. Not to mention that he’s a virgin. And Bucky thinks it’s kind of hilarious and he offers to feed Steve. 
> 
> Author's Note: I don't remember where this prompt came from, so if you are the originator, please let me know and I'll credit you!
> 
> Pairing: Steve/Bucky
> 
> Warning: Dub-con because Steve is a sex demon, but Bucky really does want him. This is total crackfic sex demon AU. Yeah, you know you wanted it.

[ ](http://s769.photobucket.com/user/house_of_lantis/media/mynameis.png.html)

 

“This was not what I was expecting.” The Incubus demon sighed, stroking his forehead with the fingers of both hands.

Steve thought he looked pretty stressed out. This was definitely a far cry from the handsome, black-haired, green-eyed demon who sauntered confidently into Steve’s hospital room, smelling tantalizingly of leather, jasmine and sulfur.

“I don’t mean to be difficult,” Steve said, needing it to be said.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest as he leaned against the cold, hard brick wall of the abandoned warehouse.  He leaned against cold surfaces often, mostly because it helped cool him down when he started getting a little hot under the collar.  

“You know, when I turned you, I thought you were going to be something amazing. All that internal rage, all that untapped lust, you could feed on the whole city of New York for the rest of your immortal life and you’d never be full, never be sated…you could’ve really been something, Steve. A real legend for the history books.” He gave Steve a long look and made a disgruntled sound. “Such a waste.”  

Steve shrugged one exceptionally muscular shoulder, squinting his eyes more out of habit than anything else, especially now that he had better than perfect vision, and pursed his lips. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“It’s not about hurting anyone, fucking Christ—“

“Language.”

The demon stared at him with his mouth open, speechless. “How are you even real?” He waved his hand up and down at Steve. “Look at you. I’ve made you perfect! You’re at the peak of human perfection and—and you just…all you do is help little old ladies carry their groceries and—and…fuck!” The demon shook his head and glared at the cement ground, shoulders drooping. “I can’t be seen with you, Steve. I can’t have my brethren know that you’re my legacy. Shit, if the other Incubus demons found out, I’d be laughed out of the Lilin Club.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “There’s a club? Where—“

“No. No!” The demon hissed, shaking his head. “You are totally banned from going anywhere near the club.”  He grabbed two fistfuls of his own black hair and pulled, letting out a grunt. “Did you not know what I was when I appeared to you? Do you remember me saying, _‘hey cutie, you’re about to die, want to be immortal, want to be an Incubus demon, have sex as much as you want and feed on sexual energies’?_ Did that conversation just totally not register with you? At all?”

Steve took a deep breath. “I thought I was hallucinating; right before you showed up in my hospital room, I was talking to my mother.”

The demon made a face at him like _‘so what?’_

“She died when I was seventeen.”

“Look, I have to go,” the demon said, morosely.

“What? No, you can’t just leave? You can’t abandon me. I don’t know what to do.”

The demon rolled his eyes. “You know _exactly_ what to do. You need to fuck! It’s your basic instinct to survive, dumbass!”

“It just seems so…impersonal.”

“Ohmygod,” the demon said, groaning. “Look, sweetheart, you have maybe…three more weeks before you starve. You know what happens to a sex demon when he’s starving? You won’t care if it’s impersonal, you won’t care if they want it or not, you won’t care about anything except to feed. Do you want to be **that** kind of demon?”

Steve was horrified. “No! Absolutely not! I’d rather starve and die!”

“You can’t die, moron, you’re immortal. What part of immortal Incubus demon are you not getting here, Steve? You’ll just starve and your body will take what you don’t give it.” The demon shoved his hands into the pockets of his tight black jeans. “Look, do what you want. Feed, don’t feed, it’s not about me. This is all about you.” He gave Steve another long look, the corner of his lip ticking up. “Such a fucking waste. You could’ve been my jewel in the crown. Have a good life, kid. I’ll look you up in a century, see how you’re doing.”

“But…” Steve trailed off, frowning deeply, watching as the demon seemed to disappear into the night.

Steve let out a troubled sigh, falling back against the brick wall. He heard the deep rumble of a barge horn as it passed slowly, chugging its way along the East River. For the second time in his life, he felt abandoned; but under the sting of rejection, there was a buzzing restlessness, the sound of his blood rushing in his ears, as something churned in the pit of his belly.

“You didn’t even tell me your name.”

***

He used to be short and skinny, sickly. As a kid, he was diagnosed with so many ailments that his pediatrician didn’t expect to see him graduate from high school. Steve had overheard his doctor talking to his mom, telling her that there was a good chance that if Steve got sick again, it could compromise his immune system, and for her to prepare herself that Steve could die.

That was the kind of medical advice the poor of Brooklyn got; but to be fair, Steve really wasn’t supposed to make it this far.

_“What did you do to me? How is this even possible?” Steve said, looking at his new body – he was probably over six feet tall now, long ropes of muscles under firm, healthy, and tanned skin, his eyes looked bluer and clearer, his hair thicker and more golden than his usual dishwater blond, and he looked under his pants and whistled…that was not what his penis used to look like. He turned this way and that way, making his usual faces in the mirror, trying to see if there was some semblance of the old Steve Rogers looking back at him._

_The demon grinned, raising his eyebrow. “Tricks of the trade, kid; maybe in a thousand years or so, I’ll tell you how it’s done.”_

_“But I don’t get it. If you’re an Incubus demon, how come you changed me instead of a woman?”_

_The demon rolled his eyes. “That’s sexist, right? Also, I’m omnisexual.”_

_Steve turned and stared at him. “Omnisexual?”_

_The demon smiled. “Welcome to the 21 st century as a modern sex demon. I love sex; I love sex with anything with a pulse.” _

_“So am I going to be omnisexual, too?”_

_“Yeah, eventually,” the demon said, sighing longingly. “You kind of go through phases; maybe at first you’ll find a specific gender sexually attractive and you’ll fuck them; and then you’ll find another gender attractive and you’ll fuck your way through them; and then maybe you’ll find other gender expressions and identities attractive, and you’ll fuck your way through them, too. Eventually, it doesn’t matter. If they’re alive and they can have sex, you’ll want to fuck them.”_

_“That’s a lot of fucking,” Steve said, dryly._

_“Sex demon. That’s kind of how things work for us.”_

Steve sighed, leaning against the window from his living room, looking out at the city. The rhythm and rumble of the subway car as it crossed over the metal bridge was both a soothing familiarity and an annoyance. Any other night, he might be inspired to do some sketching or painting, but the constant throb of hunger in the pit of his stomach was too distracting.

He was **so** hungry.

His cock was still hard; no matter how many times he jerked off, he couldn’t find relief. At least, not alone.

_“Why can’t I just jerk off?_

_“Doesn’t work that way,” the demon said, grinning at him. “Be too easy. We’re demons, kiddo, which means that we’re cursed to fuck and feed for all eternity.”_

_Steve frowned hard, running a hand through his hair. It felt softer than it used to; it was so thick and—okay, he was getting off track here._

_“I’m not really sure I can do this. I’ve never…you know.”_

_“You’re a virgin?”_

_“Uh, yeah…did you not see me on my deathbed? Short, skinny…it’s not like a lot of partners were lining up to have a dance with me,” he said, shrugging._

_“You’ve got this new body, why don’t you go take it out for a test drive or two or fifty? Come on, kid, this is the life! Absolutely no strings sex, with anyone you want, any way you want it, the world is your oyster, it’s all for the taking. Just a smile from you and panties and briefs drop; just a whisper of suggestion and people will be bending over, begging for it, moaning, screaming, all wet and tight and juicy—“_

_“Okay! Shesh, that’s…I get it, okay? Just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean I don’t…good grief,” Steve said, feeling his face flush, blood rushing to his cheeks and ears._

_The Incubus demon smiled. “I didn’t turn you out of pity. That night, when I saw you in the hospital room.”_

_Steve turned his head to look at the demon. “Then why?”_

_“Maybe you kind of reminded me of someone,” the demon said, shrugging. “Long time ago, before you humans even knew how to measure time. There was this man, a boy really, looked kind of like you used to – short, long thin arms and legs, head of hair like the sun. He had something special about him.”_

_He was intrigued; the Incubus demon rarely shared anything personal with Steve. “What happened to him?”_

_“Died,” the demon said, taking a deep breath. “I was going to turn him, but he caught some kind of sickness. I waited too long…thought if he got a little stronger, I could take his life force and then give him back mine, make him strong. But I waited too long…”_

_“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, reaching over to put his hand on the demon’s shoulder, giving it a warm squeeze._

_The demon shrugged off his hand, an ugly sneer twisting his lips. “It was a long time ago. I’ve had a lot of lovers since him.”_

_Steve didn’t say anything, opting to give the demon his dignity and his grief._

But Steve was so hungry. He’d never felt pain like this, like it was burning and gutting him at the same time. His cock was so hard that he couldn’t find relief. He was afraid to go out and find someone to…to feed from, but he knew that he couldn’t wait too long, that the Incubus demon instinct in him would force him to go out and…do something horrific. Steve couldn’t even bring himself to think about it.

Where could he go? To a bar? Pick up some unsuspecting victim for a one night stand?

Steve made a distasteful face.

But he was still so hungry; his skin felt starved of touch.

“Walk it off, Rogers,” he told himself, grabbing his navy blue jacket off the coat hanger, tugging it on. “Just go for a walk.”

Grabbing his keys, he left his apartment and headed out into the night. He just needed to be around people to ground him; let the cool night air clear his head. He reached down and shifted his cock into a more comfortable and less noticeable position, looking down at his groin and letting out a frustrated sigh. He pulled down the hem of his plaid button-up and hoped that the night and his shirt hid the evidence of his problem.

***

He got on the C Train at Lafayette in Brooklyn, planning to just ride the line into the city. He found a car that was nearly empty and got on, sitting down on the hard orange plastic seat, taking a deep breath. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the glass, letting the rumble of the train distract him from the sounds and smells around him.

One of the most amazing things about being turned into an Incubus demon was that Steve’s senses were always engaged. Before, when he was sick, it was hard for him to take a deep breath and he had to breathe through his mouth, taking short, deep pants to try and fill his underdeveloped lungs. It didn’t allow him to inhale through his nose and smell different scents.

Not to mention that a lot of smells irritated him; or he was simply allergic to everything to really enjoy the environment around him.

Now, he could inhale and even scent the lingering smells of people who occupied the space that he filled. Steve took a deep, slow breath and caught the scent of a man, his musky cologne, the gel in his hair. He smelled _expensive_ ; like the way that scents changed from Brooklyn to Midtown to the Upper East Side, chemically and man-made rather than musk and nature. He opened his eyes and stared at the cute man sitting across from him, a small smile on his lips.

Steve blinked and sat up, staring at him. He had dark, wavy hair, what looked like blue-gray eyes, and a small cleft at the bottom of his chin.

He was a beautiful stranger; and he was smiling at Steve.

_Damn, Steve was so hungry_ …and that man was smiling at him. No one had ever smiled at Steve like that before; sure, lots of people looked at Steve now, wanted his well-crafted new body created to seduce and elicit desire. That was kind of a sore point with Steve: no one had wanted him when he was small and sick, but **everyone** wanted a piece of him now, didn’t they?

“Hey,” the man said, his voice low and friendly.

“Hi,” Steve said, feeling kind of lame. He winced and then looked at the man, trying for a smile. “Hey.”

The other man chuckled, running his hand over his hair. He took a deep breath and got up, crossed the short distance between them, and sat down next to Steve.

“I’m Jimmy Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky.” He held out his hand.

Steve licked his lips and rubbed his right hand on his jeans to dry his sweaty palm and then shook Bucky’s hand. “Steve. Rogers.”

“Nice to meet you, Steve Rogers,” Bucky said, grinning at him.

Steve nodded his head, enjoying the warmth and strength of Bucky’s hand in his. Bucky felt strong; maybe Steve could have just a little taste, just to sate the hunger in his stomach, and Bucky would be okay. He was strong and healthy, virile; he would survive a feeding from Steve. He wouldn’t take too much. He could control himself. Steve could handle it. He wasn’t—

“I’m not a monster,” Steve blurted aloud, blinking at his own stupidity.

“Uhh…okay,” Bucky said, chuckling a little. He gave Steve a look and cocked his head. “All right, you’re not a monster. So I don’t have to worry that you’re going to chop me up into little pieces, huh?”

He made a face. “No?”

“No? Are you asking or saying?”

“No,” he tried again, keeping his voice low.

Bucky grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling at the edges, showing lines of crow’s feet. Steve liked them, liked that Bucky was a man who liked to laugh with his whole face. It eased something in him, the hunger was still there, throbbing with the beat of his heart, but the urgency lessened.

“So where’re you headed tonight, Stevie?”

Steve smiled, feeling his face warm at the nickname. No one had ever given him a nickname before.

“I’m just, uh, riding the train, I guess.”

“I’m two stops over,” Bucky said, meeting Steve’s eyes. “Want to come over and hang out? I don’t know you from nothing, but you look like you could use some company.”

He let out a soft laugh. “I look that desperate, huh?”

“Not desperate,” Bucky said, softly. “Just a Brooklyn boy who might want to watch a game on TV, maybe have a beer.” He got up, holding onto the rail above his head. “Last chance, Stevie.”

“Am I going to end up chopped into little pieces if I say yes?”

Bucky’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Not a chance. I wouldn’t ruin the carpeting in my living room. Security deposit, you know.”

Steve laughed, getting up to stand beside him. He was just an inch taller than Bucky, but he liked that they could see nearly eye-to-eye. A couple of weeks ago, Steve wouldn’t have even reached Bucky’s chin. He wondered if a gorgeous guy like Bucky would’ve ever given him the time of day if Steve had been short and skinny.

Maybe it didn’t matter anymore.

The train came to a stop at the High Street station and Bucky winked at Steve over his shoulder, turning for the opened doors.

Steve paused for a single breath and followed Bucky; it felt like something he was destined to do.

***

Bucky had a 5th floor apartment on Remsen Street; the complex even had a doorman in the lobby who greeted Bucky by name. It wasn’t a fancy place, but it was nicer than Steve’s studio loft.

“Come on in, the place is kind of a mess; I wasn’t planning on bringing company over,” Bucky said, unlocking the door and waving Steve inside.

Steve closed the door and, after a moment of indecision, locked it behind him. Bucky turned on lights, dropped his keys on the table and left his backpack on the floor by the wall. Steve walked inside slowly, looking at the parquet floors, the white walls with interesting wall hangings, the huge 70-inch flat screen, the black leather couch was long enough that a guy Bucky’s height could easily curl up on it with room to spare. There was a pile of books piled high on the floor by the coffee table. It looked like a bachelor pad, except it was clean and neat.

“Want a beer?”

“Uh, yes,” he said, wandering around the living room and looking into the clean, neatly organized kitchen. It was small and narrow, but kind of cute.

Bucky pulled out two bottles of beer, popped the tops on the edge of the counter, and handed one off to Steve. He tapped the neck of his beer bottle against Steve’s and grinned up at him. “To new friends.”

“New friends,” Steve said, taking a long sip.

“So, what do you want to watch? You look like a guy who likes baseball,” Bucky said, heading back into the living room and picking up a large, black universal remote. He tapped various buttons until he found a baseball game.

Steve watched as Bucky sank down on the plush leather couch, leaving room for Steve to join him.

“So, um, we’re really just going to watch baseball?”

Bucky laughed, taking a drink of his beer. He leaned his head back to peer up at Steve. “Expecting something more?”

“Yes. I mean, no! I mean…”

“Something tells me that you’re not looking for a one night stand,” he said, grinning. “Come on, sit down, you’re too tall and my neck’s starting to crick. Just sit down here and drink your beer and watch the game, Stevie.”

Steve sat down, leaving a little space between them. Bucky sprawled out, his leg brushing against Steve’s thigh. It felt good to just sit next to him and to feel the warmth of his leg. Bucky heckled the game and Steve finally relaxed enough that he could drink his beer and laugh along to Bucky’s colorful commentary.

“So, um, what do you do?”

Bucky let out a soft laugh. “I’m a mechanical engineer; I work for Stark Industries. You?”

“Freelance artist,” he said, turning so that he faced Bucky, his left side tucked against the back of the leather couch.

Bucky grinned at him. “Are you the kind of artist that shows his stuff in galleries?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, nodding. “I, uh, I have some of my pieces showing at a small gallery in downtown Brooklyn. Clover’s, on Atlantic Avenue? They primarily show work by women artists, but they like my stuff, they like me, so they invited me to show there a few times. I book a few shows a year.”

“So are you famous or something?”

Steve laughed, shaking his head. “Not famous; not infamous either. Just another working artist.”

“That’s really great, Stevie,” Bucky said, smiling up at him. “I don’t know ding about art, but hey, maybe you can take me to Clover’s and show me your work, talk about what I’m seeing.”

“I’d…I’d really like that, Buck.”

He met Bucky’s warm gaze, watching as his smile widened at hearing his own nickname. Steve held his breath as Bucky’s eyes slipped down to look at Steve’s mouth and he licked his lips, feeling his tongue dart out to wet his dry bottom lip. Bucky turned his head, slow, just a little movement, meeting Steve’s eyes as he slid a little closer.

He was going to kiss Steve!

_Did his breath smell? How much tongue did he need to use? What did he do with his hands?_

Bucky’s warm lips pressed gently against Steve’s mouth, catching him off guard so that he inhaled sharply. Bucky pulled back, a small furrow between his eyebrows as he met Steve’s eyes.

“Okay?” Bucky said, leaning forward again.

“Yes,” Steve whispered, his gaze falling to Bucky’s plump bottom lip. He wanted to suck on it; bite it a little. “You’re so gorgeous.”

Bucky grinned, nipping Steve’s bottom lip. “You’re the one that’s gorgeous.”

The little nip sent a shiver down Steve’s back, settling low in the heat of his belly, his cock already hard with the scent of Bucky in his nose.

“I really want you,” Steve said, softly, meeting Bucky’s eyes.

He watched as the pupils dilated; and Steve gasped, pulling away, nearly falling off the couch in his graceless haste.

“What—what’s wrong? Stevie—“

“Sorry! I’m sorry! I shouldn’t abuse my powers like that, but I can’t tell if I’m using them or if you’re really that attracted to me—“

“I’m really that attracted to you,” he said, dryly, raising an eyebrow.

Steve shook his head. “No, no! I mean, Bucky, you don’t even know me and you’ve invited me to your place and we—we were going to...do it.”

Bucky took a deep breath and gave Steve a puzzled look, his eyes squinted and lips pressed together in a pout. “Yeah…I mean, a little more lead up would’ve been fine, I wasn’t in a hurry or nothing. If you’re a little freaked out, we can watch the game some more, drink another beer and—“

“I’m an Incubus demon,” Steve blurted out, making an awkward face and hunching his shoulders forward.

“Okay,” he drawled out, raising both eyebrows.

“I haven’t done this before?”

“I thought Incubus demons only slept with women.”

“I like men?”

Bucky finished the rest of his beer, keeping his eyes on Steve, and set the empty bottle on the coffee table. “Okay, so you think you’re an Incubus demon and you like men.”

“You don’t believe me.”

Bucky laughed, shaking his head. “Dude, would _you_  believe it if I said this to you?”

“If you’d asked me that a couple of weeks ago, I would’ve said no,” he said, sourly.

“Hey, I have a question. When you said that you haven’t done this before, did you mean do _this_  as an Incubus demon or a one night stand?”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“Maybe just a little bit.” Bucky smiled, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Come on, sit down, Stevie. I’m not going to jump you or nothing.”

“Maybe I’m going to jump you.”

“Well then, I’m all yours,” he said, sprawling out even more on the couch, legs spread apart, open and willing.

Steve took a step closer to him. “I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to.”

“That’s a good start,” Bucky told him, smiling. “Good rule to follow.”

“And to answer your question, I’ve never done this before as an Incubus demon…or ever.”

Bucky stared at him, eyes wide. “Never?”

“Pathetic, huh?” Steve said, sitting down on the couch and taking a deep breath.

“You’re serious,” he said, kindly. “It’s just that…how can you be a virgin and an Incubus demon?”

Steve turned his head and gave him a look.

“Hey, I’m just asking…you read about sex demons all your life, you automatically assume that the demon has had sex.”

Steve wasn’t quite sure if Bucky was still teasing him, but he gave Steve a bawdy wink that made Steve roll his eyes.

“I didn’t always look like this. I was short and kind of dorky looking. No one ever paid any attention to me. In fact, I’m still trying to get used to everything. You can’t know the number of times I’ve nearly knocked myself out because I don’t remember how tall I am and hit my head on doorways.”

Bucky chuckled, but it was good-natured. “It’s not pathetic…though maybe not mentioning that you’re an Incubus demon might make it a little easier.”

“I don’t want to lie; it seems like lying, to get what I want, and I don’t want to do that.”

“What about what I want, Steve?” Bucky said, reaching out to stroke his hand down Steve’s thigh, curling it behind his knee and squeezing gently.

Steve swallowed. “You…you really want me?”

“Are you using your powers on me right now?”

“No,” he said, quickly. He frowned and shrugged. “I don’t think so. Does it feel like you’re being overcome with lust?”

Bucky chuckled. “Only because I’m looking at you.” He ran his hand up higher on Steve’s thigh, making Steve tremble. “Let’s try kissing and see where it takes us.”

Steve snorted. “I know where it’ll take us.”

“Damn, I hope so,” Bucky said, leaning in to kiss Steve on the mouth. His lips pressed a little firmer than before, the tip of his tongue coming out to lick across the seam of Steve’s mouth. He gasped, feeling his lips part and Bucky’s tongue slipped inside, exploring, stroking against Steve’s tongue.

He was teasing Steve; and Steve felt something click inside of him, giving him permission, believing that he had Bucky’s permission, and he wrapped his arms around Bucky and pulled him down on the couch cushions until he was under Steve.

“Yeah,” Bucky murmured, digging his hands into Steve’s hair, tilting his head slightly as his tongue moved deeper into Steve’s mouth, warm and wet and teasing. “It’s a right shame that no one’s given you any pleasure.”

“Everything about you tastes so good,” Steve murmured, in between kissing Bucky’s mouth, licking across his bottom lip, and kissing his way down the lean, long neck to nibble on Bucky’s earlobe. “How is it that you taste so good?”

Bucky chuckled, throaty and pleased, leaning his head back to give Steve more room. “ _Hmmm_ …you could go to a fella’s head, Stevie.”

Steve pressed his nose against Bucky’s neck and spent a few minutes just inhaling all of Bucky’s warm scents – musk, early evening sweat, the after shave he used this morning, the lingering smells of the rich curry he had for lunch, the smell of the city, of exhaust fumes and sugar and something woodsy. Steve licked him again and again, flat of his tongue moving against the rough five o’clock shadow on Bucky’s jaw and throat.

“I think I just…I could probably live off this,” Steve said, wiggling closer to Bucky’s firm body, switching to the other side of Bucky’s neck to lick and inhale all over again. “Maybe I just need to get you off and that’s all I need?”

“All right, let’s try it and see what happens?” Bucky said, blue-gray eyes sparkling with amusement and lust. “I’m game if you are.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yup. Not going to turn down a pretty guy like you to get me off.”

Steve was really sure that Bucky was laughing at him now, but he could tell by his teasing tone that it wasn’t at Steve’s expense. He was just amused and turned on, and Steve could feel him hard under him. He reached between them to palm Bucky’s cock, stroking his hand over and over, slow and purposeful, getting the feel of him, building a rhythm that made Bucky close his eyes and tilt his head back against the cushions.

“You’re really beautiful,” Steve said, watching Bucky’s eyelashes flutter. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of you.”

“ _Mmmm_ …baby, you really do say the nicest things.”

Steve let out a small huff of amusement. “I didn’t even know I could do this.”

“It’s all good; no complaints here,” he said, looking up at Steve and licking his lips. “Kiss me while you get me off.”

“Oh. _Ohhhh_ …that’s…yes. I want that,” Steve agreed, leaning down to kiss Bucky’s mouth, his hand pressing down to rub harder, fingertips finding and curling over the head. Bucky groaned into Steve’s mouth, hips pushing up into Steve’s palm. “Should I just…keep it over the pants or—“

“Whatever you feel comfortable with, baby,” Bucky murmured, tilting his head back, eyes fluttering closed, as Steve rubbed at him harder and faster.

It felt a lot like instinct now; the uncertainty of not knowing what to do or doing something wrong went right out the window. Steve kept his eyes on Bucky, leaning down to kiss him or to lick his neck, listening to Bucky’s moans, feeling the strain of his cock under his pants as his hand moved busily over it.

“You feel so good,” Steve said, feeling strong; he wondered if it was because he was drawing from Bucky’s sexual energy.

“So do you, baby,” Bucky murmured, voice thick with desire. “Come on, just a little more, I’m so close.”

“Oh God,” he whispered, feeling a wave of heat filling his mind. “Oh God, it’s starting—“

“Yes, yes it is,” Bucky groaned, meaningfully. “ _Oh—ohhhh—fuck—yeah_ …”

Steve shuddered, feeling Bucky’s pleasure envelope him, sharing in it together as Bucky writhed and bucked against his hand. He rubbed and rubbed until Bucky moaned, grabbing his wrist to stop him, chuckling softly as he blinked up at Steve.

“That was amazing, I’ve never tasted anything like that before,” Steve said, wide-eyed and excited and energized. “Can we do that again? Can we do some other stuff, too? I feel really kind of – well, I’m still a little hungry but I don’t feel like I need to go out and try to seduce anyone off the street!”

“Thanks, I think,” Bucky said, dryly.

“No, I mean, you were so good, Bucky,” Steve said, pressing kisses on Bucky’s cheek and mouth. “You tasted so wonderful. I don’t want anyone else; I don’t think it would ever be the same.” He couldn’t help it, he had to keep kissing Bucky, which turned into licking Bucky. Steve wondered what the rest of Bucky would taste like; if it would be even better if Steve got to put his mouth on Bucky’s cock.

Bucky laughed, shaking his head. “Okay, okay, punk, okay!”

He pressed his hand on Steve’s forehead and pushed his head back, meeting his eyes.

“Sorry,” Steve said, making a face. “Sorry, I’m probably just…you know, first time and all.”

“Don’t apologize,” Bucky said, smiling affectionately at him and stroking Steve’s head. “Gimme a minute and I’ll return the favor.”

Steve’s eyes widened and his sucked in a breath. “Oh God…you want to?”

“I’m going to want to do a lot of things with you, Stevie,” Bucky said, licking his lips.

Steve felt his cheeks flush and he dropped his eyes, unable to hide his smile. He gave Bucky a coy look from under his lashes.

“Yeah, you’re not going anywhere,” Bucky said, curling his arm behind Steve’s neck and pulling him down for a long, slow kiss. It was the kind that Steve really liked and he sighed, balancing his chin on Bucky’s chest while looking up at him. “You’re going to have to show me what it’s like when you use your powers. To compare, you know?”

Steve frowned. “I was warned that it’s not something to fool around with; I don’t want to take from you more than you’re willing to give me.”

“Such a gentleman sex demon,” he said, teasingly. “Here’s something you should know about me, Stevie. I’m greedy and horny, so I feel like I’ve finally met my match in you.”

That filled Steve with some comfort, but he was still hesitant to abuse his powers. He liked knowing that Bucky wanted him because he just wanted him.

But he also wanted to give Bucky what he wanted.

“Maybe,” Steve hedged, smiling up at him. “But only if you’ll go on a real date with me first.”

“Sure, pal, any time you want,” Bucky said, meaningfully. He tucked his arms around Steve and curled one of his legs behind Steve’s thighs, holding him close.

“You’re kind of possessive,” Steve noted, cocking his head.

Bucky grinned, blue-gray eyes filled with desire and amusement. He let out a laugh and ran his hand over Steve’s head.

“I promise I’ll let you go home later…after I teach you how to fuck me.”

“Oh…”

“Just think, if you got off from going to third base with me, just think of what you’ll feel when your cock is deep inside and you make me come.”

“God, the things you say, Buck.”

Steve knew he was blushing; he ducked his head, pressing his forehead against Bucky’s chest, feeling it shake with Bucky’s warm laugh.


	14. What a Billionaire Wants - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Tony/Bucky – Continuing the slow build/slow burn – Friendship and flirting towards something more.
> 
> Author’s Note: I may be ignoring CACW for this timeline. I think this story fits in after CAWS where Bucky is in the Smithsonian. Let’s say that Steve and Sam have brought Bucky in from the cold and they live in Avengers Tower.
> 
> Author’s Note: The New York PM Daily was a real newspaper that ran from 1940-1948 and was known for being progressive and for its stunning photographs. Read more about it here: http://hyperallergic.com/272812/the-short-lived-1940s-nyc-tabloid-that-dared-to-tell-the-truth/

 

Part 1: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/3922327/chapters/12498614>

Part 2: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/3922327/chapters/15429034> 

 

Despite the gaps in his memory, Bucky was pleased to remember some moments of his past. There were a lot of things that Bucky remembered about his time as the Asset, but he didn’t quite have the headspace to actually fully process. That was going to be a long, hard road, but if Bucky wanted to continue living at the Tower and try to find his way, then he was damn sure to try.

It was Sam who found him a counselor at the VA Center. Even though Doctor Brannigan wasn’t a specialist in the kind of PTSD that Bucky suffered, the Doc was experienced working with extremely traumatized veterans, those who were held as POWs. He went to his sessions every week for two brutal hours where Bucky would try to come to terms with one memory at a time.

It wasn’t always so horrifying, though. Through his sessions with the Doc, Bucky was allowing himself to recall the happy moments of his past.

Most of his happier memories included Steve, but not the Steve who was Captain America and who stood a few inches taller than him now. They were of a Steve who was short and who got into back alley fist fights with punks who outweighed him by a hundred pounds.

As much as he loved having those memories, the ones that Bucky loved best were the ones of himself. He loved science and technological wonders. He loved learning how things fit together. He was quick to pick up on how machines worked. _“_

_You taught me how to steal trucks without using a key,” Steve told him, smiling fondly. “Natasha says that it’s called ‘hotwiring’ now.”_

_“It was in Germany, right?”_

And he loved all the new tech that he encountered every day. Tony gifted him with a special Stark tablet and JARVIS downloaded science ebooks and technology news articles and, his guilty pleasure, tabloid entertainment.

_“I can’t believe how much I missed,” Bucky said, swiping content on the screen of his tablet. TMZ.com reminded him of the gossip papers from back in his day. “I mean, I didn’t sleep through all of it like you did, but I wasn’t always aware of what was going on in the world.”_

_It wasn’t like any of his handlers let him stop off at a café after an assassination. If he had missed his return window, there was powerful incentive for Bucky to not make that mistake again._

_“HYDRA didn’t care if you were up to speed with the latest entertainment gossip, huh?” Steve said, grinning._

_“Hey, what was the name of that paper that you worked at?”_

_Steve chuckled. “The New York PM Daily.” He cleared his throat. “’PM is against people who push other people around. PM accepts no advertising. PM belongs to no political party. PM is absolutely free and uncensored. PM’s sole source of income is its readers—to whom it alone is responsible. PM is the one newspaper that can and dares to tell the truth.’”_

_“Yeah, you were sweet on that one photographer, what was her name again?”_

_“Mary Morris,” Steve said, softly. “She passed in 2009. Age 95. Everyone said that she was still a spitfire.”_

_Bucky scrolled through the TMZ pages, showing the screen to Steve. “I don’t even know who any of these people are. Hey, this Angelina is a real doll, though.”_

_“I read somewhere that Tony gave her the business,” Steve said, confidentially. “And there’s a rumor that he gave it to her husband, Brad, too.”_

_“At the same time!” Clint called from across the room. “It’s called a threesome.”_

_“Ménage-a-trois ain’t a modern term, Barton,” Bucky said, laughing. He turned to smile at Steve. “Remember that time the Commandos snuck us into that French brothel?”_

_He watched as Steve blushed rosy and smirked, looking back at his screen._

_“Look at this mook, Steve. I bet you five bucks that all the people who thought this Tom Cruise character was a real head case, probably think he’s not so nuts anymore, what with the alien invasion and all.”_

_From the kitchen, Clint choked on his muffin. “Oh shit! The Scientologists are probably creaming their collective pants!”_

_Bucky smiled, shaking his head. “I love technology, Steve.”_

_“I know, Buck.”_

It was that same love for science and technology that made Bucky a damn good sniper. He could field strip, assemble, and use any weapon; and he could do complex calculations on the fly in his head. When HYDRA discovered his hidden skills, they exploited his love for science and twisted it into something inhumane.

“Coffee, JARVIS, coffee me right now,” Tony said, rushing into the living room and heading straight for the kitchen. “Outta the way, Barton, I’m taking the coffee with me!”

“Tony has a lot of interesting technology,” Bucky remarked, watching Tony going for the coffee maker. He paused for only a moment as it finished brewing, and took the whole pot of coffee with him. He wore one of his Ironman gauntlets on his left hand, a screwdriver gripped between his teeth, as he mumbled something that seemed like equations under his breath. “He reminds me of Howard.”

“Yeah, don’t let him hear you say that,” Clint told him, sitting down on the couch and flipping through the channels on the large flat screen television.

Bucky cocked his head. “Why not? He’s Howard’s son, right. His workshop looks a lot like Howard’s old workshop back in the SSR. You remember, don’tcha Steve?”

Steve cleared his throat and made a face. “From what I’ve gathered, Tony didn’t have a good relationship with Howard.”

“There’s a lot of daddy issues,” Clint intoned, looking at Bucky.

Bucky didn’t know what “daddy issues” meant, but he could parse it out in context.  

“That’s too bad,” he said, softly, looking down the hallway to where Tony disappeared, heading back down to his workshop with his pot of coffee.

***

The amount of food that was available was still a bit of a shock. It wasn’t so much his old timer sensibilities or of the Great Depression and food shortages and rationing during the war. He didn’t really eat a lot of food while as the Asset. The technicians pumped him up with all kinds of vitamins and supplements, and fed him some tasteless and flavorless gelatinous concoction that left Bucky feeling full but not satisfied. He was never hungry when he was awake; the technicians always ensured that his body was at peak performance before sending him out on his missions.  

Every once in a while, if he performed exceptionally well in the field, he’d be rewarded with physical food. But Bucky had a hard time keeping it down; and in the end, eating food felt more like a punishment than a reward.

Now, Bucky liked fresh fruits; his favorites were plums and he was always pleased to know that he could get sweet plums, even when they weren’t in season. He was pretty sure that Tony put the order in for him. He always found the kitchen, in the apartment that he shared with Steve, well-stocked with his favorites.

He was also addicted to Mac & Cheese. He couldn’t get enough and ate it almost every day at least once a day.

_“Let me take you to a real Italian restaurant,” Tony begged, shaking his head at Bucky’s bowl of Mac & Cheese. “My taste buds are rebelling at the thought that you think this overly processed cheap food is good food.” _

_“Why? I like it. This is good enough for me,” he said, licking his spoon of the melted cheese. He swiped his thumb through the remnants on the bowl and stuck it into his mouth, beaming at Tony._

_“That’s not even real Mac & Cheese,” Tony complained, watching him as he cleaned his bowl. If he wouldn’t have thought that Tony would find it disturbing, Bucky would’ve licked the bowl clean with his tongue. _

_He finally relented and Tony took the whole team out to dinner at what was touted to be the best Italian restaurant in the city. It had something called Michelin Stars and the chef came out to greet Tony personally. Bucky stared at the bowl of fancy Mac & Cheese and took a small bite. They were all watching him. _

_“Is it good, Buck?” Steve asked, smiling knowingly at him._

_“Mmmmhmm…”_

_He chewed slowly; and when no one was looking, he spit the weird pasta and cheese glob into his napkin._

A few days later, Bucky went to check on his Mac & Cheese supply in the pantry and was pleased to find several dozen blue boxes on the shelves.

“Hey, JARVIS?”

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes, what can I do for you?”

“Did Tony stock my pantry with all this Mac & Cheese?”

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes. Sir felt that you should always have a supply of your favorite foods.”

“Okay. Thanks, buddy.”

Later, he made a double batch and divided out the Mac & Cheese into two bowls, grabbed two bottles of beer, and made his way to Tony’s workshop with his offerings. JARVIS let him inside and Bucky watched as Tony stood in front of his desk, four hologram screens filled with all kinds of data and figures and numbers. That rock music with the screeching guitar riff was blasting from the speakers, making Bucky’s ears ache, but he stood in the workshop, unable to take his eyes off of Tony.

The music ended abruptly and Tony turned, giving Bucky a wink. “You like what you see?”

Bucky smiled, looking up at the screens with nothing but delight and awe. “You remind me of the first time I saw Howard at the EXPO. He had all these beautiful dames on stage with him and he was dressed in a tuxedo like he was going to some fancy party, and he showed off a car that could fly.” He walked closer to Tony, setting the bowls and bottles on a corner of Tony’s desk, staring up at the screen. “I used to think, _that Stark, he’s a real genius. There’s never going to be another fella like him in my lifetime_.” He grinned and then looked at Tony. “But you’re the real genius. There’s never going to be another fella like you in your lifetime.”

Tony blinked and stared at him for a long moment; and Bucky remembered that he didn’t like being compared to Howard.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

“No, it’s fine,” Tony said, turning back to the hologram screens. He huffed out a short laugh. “Guess my old man made an impression on you.”

“Back in my time, I’d never seen anything like what Howard was showing. Part of me is still wondering why no one ever made a flying car like he promised.”

“There is a flying car,” Tony said, quietly.

“Yeah?” Bucky said, smiling at him. “Do you have Howard’s old car?”

“It’s probably somewhere in a junkyard by now,” he said, shrugging. “I’m talking about Lola.”

“Lola?”

 “Come on, I’ll show you,” Tony said, waving his hands at the screens. “JARVIS, save everything to my personal server, will you?”

“Of course, Sir.”

Tony led him to the back part of his workshop where a number of beautiful, old fashioned looking cars were parked. There was one that had a gray tarp covering it and Tony picked up on end, pulling it off.

“Oh man, who could shoot up a beautiful car like this?” Bucky said, frowning at the dozens of bullet holes in the bright red body. He whistled lowly and ran his hand over the curves of the car.

“She’s a 1962 Chevrolet Corvette,” Tony said, following him around the vehicle. “She belongs to Agent Agent.”

Bucky looked at Tony, puzzled. “Agent Agent?”

“Coulson,” he said, the corner of his lips lifting with a smile. “She used to belong to Agent’s old man, Robert Coulson. He was a mechanical engineer. They restored her together.”

“And she can fly?”

“Not yet. She hovers really well, though. But after I’m finished fixing her, she’ll be able to do a lot more than just fly.” Tony said, proudly. “Agent comes over on weekends when he’s free and he’ll spend a couple of days at the Tower, fixing her up. I’ve been making some new modifications for her.”

Bucky placed his fingertips into the myriad of bullet holes. “Did Howard help Coulson’s father with the hover technology?”

Tony cracked a wide smile. “Actually, I met Agent when I was at MIT. He was just recruited into SHIELD and, well, I had just taken over Stark Industries. He wanted to make sure that SI was going to keep producing weapons for the military. That’s when I found out about Lola. He was talking about doing some upgrades for her and…I guess he wanted to distract me from what happened to my parents. I found Howard’s notes on his original hover technology and upgraded her for him. I’ve been giving Lola upgrades over the years ever since.”

Bucky bit his lip when Tony glossed over the deaths of Howard and Maria. It was pretty clear that Tony knew that the Starks death was at HYDRA’s command…and at Bucky’s hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said, softly. “I didn’t—“

“Well, that’s enough strolling down memory lane for today, or, you know, forever, don’t you think, Barnes?” He said, cutting Bucky off sharply.

Bucky frowned, glancing at Tony, but the other man didn’t seem angry or upset. He didn’t seem to hold any kind of emotion on his face that Bucky could decipher. He sighed and ran a hand over his hair.

“I brought some food down for you. I didn’t think you had anything for lunch.”

Tony gave a half grin, looking at the two bowls at his desk. “Did you really bring me some of your Mac & Cheese?”

“It tastes even better when it’s kind of cooled down,” he offered, giving Tony a tentative smile.

“All right,” he said, walking back to his desk, waving for Bucky to follow him. “Eat and then I’ll show you what’s under her hood.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“You know, Agent is probably going to be here in a few days. Maybe if you asked nicely, he’ll let you help put Lola back together again.”

Bucky smiled, surprised but pleased by the invitation. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”

***

Bucky was sitting in his bedroom, the tablet on his lap, brooding. He’d spent the whole morning reading every article he could find on Google on Howard and Maria Starks death. The news articles linked to pictures of a very young Tony Stark looking pale and bruised at the funeral; and plenty of stories of Tony’s reckless years of hard drinking and even harder partying. There were plenty of pictures of Tony going into or leaving clubs, always surrounded by a bevy of pretty dames, getting into car accidents and fights with photographers. Bucky frowned, tracing his fingers over the image of Tony trying to look emotionless as a swarm of reporters and photographers surrounded him, leaving the cemetery.

“Sergeant Barnes, your presence is requested in Sir’s workshop at your earliest convenience.”

Bucky shut down his tablet and set it on his bed. “Did he say what he needed me for?”

“Agent Coulson is in residence. Sir would like for you to meet them.”

He got off the bed. “That’s great, I’ll be right there. Thanks, JARVIS.”

“It’s my pleasure, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky made his way down to Tony’s workshop and as soon as he approached, the doors slid open and Bucky frowned deeper, watching Tony arguing with a man wearing a neatly pressed black suit.

“—the hell do you mean you don’t want weapons upgrades? Didn’t you love the flamethrower that I added last time?”

“I’m not taking Lola out into the field again. She’s retiring and she’s going to enjoy a long and safe civilian life.”

Tony made a face, waving his hand towards the red car. “She’s the best field agent you have!”

“The only thing you need to do is improve her hover technology—“

“There is nothing wrong with her hover technology! You’re the one who dropped her into midair from the damned Bus! Who does that? She wasn’t built to hover at 15,000 feet! What I should do is add a damn parachute!” Tony narrowed his eyes and stared up at the other man. “Something you and your favorite hero in spandex have in common. I hear that Cap likes to drop out of planes without a parachute, too!”

Bucky rolled his eyes. He had heard plenty of stories of how Steve liked jumping out of planes. That punk was going to give Bucky gray hairs.

The older man put his hands on his hips and leaned towards Tony. Bucky’s instincts to protect Tony flared up, but he backed down when he realized that the other man wasn’t hostile.

“Stark, I’ve had Lola for nearly my whole life. I will not endanger her again.”

Tony scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You can’t expect me to believe that you’ll be content to leave her on blocks or lock her in some garage somewhere, Phil.”

Phil’s lips twitched and he grinned, staring at Tony. “I was hoping to let her stay here with you.”

“With me?” He said, blinking rapidly.

“I’m not giving her to you, Stark, don’t get any funny ideas. I’m just saying that if she’s safe anywhere in this world, she’s safest here in your Tower.”

“Oh,” Tony said, smiling widely. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Of course she can stay here! She’ll be perfectly fine with the Shelby and the roadster. Perfect company, in fact.”

“And perhaps Sergeant Barnes will be good enough to lend a hand here and there,” Phil said, turning to look at Bucky. He smiled warmly, holding out his hand and walking towards Bucky. “I’m Phil Coulson. It’s an honor to finally meet you, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky shook Phil’s hand. “Bucky. My friends call me Bucky.”

“Phil,” he said, in kind, eyes dancing with pleasure.

“Maybe he’ll sign your vintage trading cards if you asked him nicely,” Tony teased, chuckling.

“Oh. Um, sure?”

Phil grinned and met Bucky’s gaze. “Actually, if you wouldn’t mind giving an autograph, I do have a new set in my suitcase. My last set was unsalvageable.”

“Okay, sure.”

Tony leaned his elbows on Lola’s hood, hip cocked out like an old fashioned centerfold model. “So, gents, let’s fix up the old girl.”

“Get your elbows off of Lola, Stark,” Phil said, giving him a hard look.

***

Bucky has never had so much fun than the last couple of days with Tony and Phil. Bucky’s sole task was to find and remove every bullet lodged in Lola. JARVIS helpfully supplied hologram diagrams of Lola’s framework, the trajectory of the bullet from the bullet holes, and Bucky spent his time gently searching out and extracting each bullet until JARVIS confirmed that none were left.

While Phil worked on her engine, Tony fabricated various parts and engine components, and every once in a while, all three of them were dosed with the fire extinguisher in DUM-E’s possession.

Tony had sourced parts that he couldn’t fabricate; and ordered new white leather seat covers and interior pieces from his wide network of manufacturers, even going as far as calling in favors from the CEO of Tesla Motors and Ferrari; negotiating deals with junkyard owners looking for authentic Chevrolet parts.

Bucky enjoyed welding and he spent long hours working on covering the bullet holes in the body, smoothing out his work, and passing intense and rigorous inspecting by both Phil and Tony before handing it off to JARVIS to repaint in the original Hot Cherry Red.

Tony was showing Bucky the inner workings of the engine, a strange partnership of engine parts and high end technology, and Bucky was slowly learning that his skills in putting things together hadn’t all been destroyed by HYDRA.

“You know, you’re a pretty good mechanic,” Tony said, as they both leaned on Lola’s frame, looking down at her engine.

“Before the war, I used to work in the shipping yard as a third class mechanic,” Bucky said, smiling.

Tony peered up at Bucky, wiping the back of his hand on his nose and leaving behind a smear of engine grease. “You must’ve been pretty good in math to be a sniper. Steve said that you did all your math in your head. Even I know that’s not an easy thing to do.”

A loud snore interrupted their conversation and Bucky turned to see Phil slouched on a chair, a wrench nearly falling out of his hand.

Bucky chuckled and walked towards Phil, carefully taking the wrench and setting it on the work table. “Hey, Phil, come on, let’s get you on the couch. You’re going to get a bad crick in your neck if you sleep like this.”

“Don’t let Stark put a missile launcher in her, Barnes,” Phil mumbled as Bucky guided him to the workshop couch, helping Phil on the cushion, and then covering him with the soft fleece.

DUM-E rolled over to him and Bucky smiled, patting DUM-E on his supports. “Don’t wake him; and don’t spray him with the fire extinguisher either.”

The robot moved his arm up and down in acknowledgement and stood sentry for Phil as he slept. Bucky liked all the robots in Tony’s workshop. The other two seemed a little more reserved, a bit more shy, but DUM-E was fearless and tirelessly sociable.

He found Tony sitting on the floor, leaning against the side of Lola, and Bucky sat down beside him, letting out a deep sigh.

Tony raised his knee and propped his elbow against it, holding up the side of his head as he turned to gaze at Bucky.

Bucky leaned in and gave him a chaste kiss on Tony’s mouth. “Thank you.”

Tony blinked, looking shocked but pleased. “Whatever I did, it was my pleasure. But just for the sake of argument, what are you thanking me for?”

Bucky waved his hand around the workshop. “For this. Giving me back this.”

“You figured out what to do when you grow up?”

He nodded, looking around the workshop. It felt comfortable to him; and he understood why Tony spent so much of his time in it. “How would Tony Stark feel about having a workshop assistant?”

“Well, Tony Stark’s already got three assistants,” Tony said, looking over at his three robots. “Hiring you wouldn’t be any worse than them.”

“Thanks,” he said, dryly.

“The hours are long and weird, the pay probably sucks, you might have to face the possibility that there could be explosions on any given day, and oh yeah, get sprayed with the fire extinguisher at least once a week, and I heard that the workshop boss is kind of an asshole.”

Bucky laughed, leaning his head back against Lola. “Sounds like perks to me.”

Tony laughed along with him.

“I also heard that the workshop boss is kind of a genius—“

“Actually, it’s genius, billionaire, philanthropist, and playboy. Primarily a playboy.”

Bucky grinned. “I’m more interested in the genius part, though.”

Tony turned and gave him a long, serious look. “Just the genius part or…”

“Pretty much the whole package, asshole and all. I can be kind of an asshole, too. You can ask Captain America, he’ll vouch for how much of an asshole I can be.”

“Sounds like kismet,” Tony said, meeting his gaze. “Well, with a reference like that, when can you start?”


	15. Everyone's a Damn Art Critic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Steve/Tony (not explicit)
> 
> Based on this prompt: I overheard you insulting one of my paintings at an exhibition and I got surprisingly upset, but then you noticed and looked so horrified and guilty, and now you’re being really apologetic and nice and we’re going for coffee tomorrow so I can “teach you more about art because you know nothing and are an asshole”.
> 
> QUOTE CITATION: “Empires inevitably fall, and when they do, history judges them for the legacies they leave behind.” Quote by Noah Feldman, American author.

 

Tony slunk into the Knowles Gallery, following hot on the heels of Pepper, and hiding behind a pair of his purple Gucci sunglasses.

 

“Why are you punishing me, Pep? What on earth could I have possibly done for you to drag me to Brooklyn of all places? It’s Brooklyn. _Brooklyn_ , Pepper!”

 

Pepper continued to ignore him, had been ignoring him during the entire ride in the limo, and she didn’t seem to plan communicating with him at all.

 

“Lila,” she called, cheerily, high heels tapping across the smooth marble main room to greet the beautiful woman with dark hair, artfully curled over her slender shoulder. “The showing is wonderful. Thank you so much for the invitation.”

 

“Pepper, so good of you to come,” Lila said, giving Pepper a little hug, air kisses to the cheeks.

 

Tony rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, glad that Pepper couldn’t see him.

 

“Mr. Stark is a fan of local Brooklyn artists,” Pepper said, turning to look at him over her shoulder. She gave him a ‘ _play along or you’re going to face a dozen boring meetings back-to-back for a year’_ glare in warning, so Tony sucked it up and plastered on his best public smile, reaching for Lila’s hand.

 

“Lovely as always, Ms. Knowles,” he said, casually kissing her knuckles.

 

Lila smirked and raised her eyebrow. “A pleasure, Mr. Stark.” She jerked her hand from Tony’s grasp and turned to look at Pepper. “We have a local artist by the name of Steve Rogers at the gallery tonight. He’s incredibly talented…not to mention incredibly handsome. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

 

“Yeah, maybe he’ll show you his etchings,” Tony said, under his breath.

 

Pepper’s look told him that she heard that; and Tony winced, moving quickly in the opposite direction, heading straight for the bar. He took a glass of champagne and started walking through the main open gallery space, looking at the various paintings and mixed media work.

 

“Christ, what is this mess?” Tony mumbled under his breath, squinting to look at the large canvas that seemed to be haphazardly glued together with crap found under someone’s couch. His financial sensibilities took a nose dive when he saw the sale price, a little blue dot by the title, indicating that it was sold. “Ten grand. Who the fuck would pay for this crap?”

 

He continued moving through the gallery, peering at each piece and sipping his champagne slowly. At least Knowles had enough sense to pay for the good champagne, even if her art gallery sold crap pieces of work.

 

“Local Brooklyn artists,” Tony muttered again, bypassing a couple who were more into each other than the art in the gallery. He didn’t begrudge them that; they probably were more interesting that the art anyway.

 

He rounded the corner and walked into a small gallery space; a small sign on the wall listed the art work in the alcove as belonging to a _S. Rogers_. Tony walked into the new section and looked at the four paintings on the walls. They weren’t too horrible – better than that mixed media crap in the front room – and Tony took his time looking at the large canvases.

 

They were all cityscapes of Brooklyn with the bridge obviously a point of pride. The first painting was titled “First Year” and was painted in muted, neutral tones with hints of red and orange. The second painting was titled “Second Year” and Tony saw some changes to the skyline. This was in done in different shades and tones of oranges and golds and a bit of green.

 

The third painting was titled “Third Year” and Tony snorted, finishing off his champagne. “What the hell is this? Some college kid’s idea of art?”

 

He turned to look at the tall, handsome man wearing a modest dark blue suit, standing at the end of the room in front of the fourth and last painting in the series. Tony smiled, handing his empty glass to a nearby waiter, and put his hands into his pockets and wandered up to the man.

 

“I want to punch this artist in his perfect teeth,” Tony said, startling the other man.

 

“Oh, um…I’m probably going to regret asking, but why?”

 

“Because the alternative is that I’m going to have to gouge out my eyes looking at them,” he said, turning to look at the other man. Tony noted that he was even more handsome up close, even if the man was now glaring at him with narrowed, blue eyes.

 

“I…see,” he said, sarcastically.

 

Tony took his hand out of his pocket and held it out to him. “Tony Stark.”

 

The other man stared at him for a long time and finally took a deep breath, shaking his hand with an overly tight grip. “Steve.”

 

“Whoa, tiger, that’s quite a grip,” Tony said, pulling his hand away and smiling charmingly up at Steve. “You could really _hurt_ a man with a tight grip like that.”

 

Steve gave him a befuddled look and clenched his jaw. “Are you enjoying the show, Mr. Stark?”

 

“Tony, call me Tony,” he said, cocking his head and letting his eyes move over Steve. “You know, you have some blue paint on your earlobe.”

 

He reached up to touch Steve’s ear, but his hand was swatted away.

 

 “What do you think you’re doing?” Steve said, frowning.

 

“Are you free for dinner? We could get out of this dump, head back into the city—“

 

Steve made a face; Tony thought it was still kind of handsome, even with the hard, displeased squint to Steve’s eyes. “Are you seriously asking me out on a date? And this place isn’t a dump, Mr. Stark—“

 

“—Tony.”

 

“—and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t insult people’s artwork,” he said, leaning closer towards Tony, his voice dropping into a deep register. It was starting to turn Tony on.

 

Tony laughed, throaty and low. “Come on, Steve, you can’t possibly defend this crap. Did you see the one out there that looks like something out of a kid’s junk drawer?” He waved his hand towards the painting they were standing in front of. “I mean, look at this one! It’s all in green and blue. Is the artist working his way through the rainbow? Did they only have six colors? I don’t get it.”

 

“Yeah, it’s pretty obvious that you don’t get it at all,” Steve said, stepping back and glaring at him. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Stark.”

 

“Hey, hey, come on, handsome,” Tony said, putting his hand on Steve’s arm. Steve shoved his arm away with the palm of his hand. “If you want to see some real art, come back to my place. I’ll show you my private collection.” He grinned, seeing the interest on Steve’s face. Everyone in the art world knew about the Stark Collection; there were pieces that the public would never be able to see. “I have the most gorgeous Renoir in my bedroom and you would look stunning lying naked in my bed under—“

 

“Tony!” Pepper said, her tone full of chiding disbelief. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Rogers; I can’t think of anything to excuse Mr. Stark’s behavior.”

 

“Rogers?” Tony said, meeting Steve’s eyes. “You’re _S. Rogers_?”

 

Lila stepped between them, turning Steve’s attention from Tony to Pepper. “Steve, this is Pepper Potts. I was just telling her about how your last collection was recently included at the _Whitney Museum of American Art_ and—“

 

“Wait, you’re Steve _Rogers_? The artist!”

 

“I saw your collection at _The Whitney_ and I must admit that I’ve followed your work since your debut,” Pepper said, holding out her hand to Steve. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

 

Tony watched the three of them making nice; he wasn’t going to just let this go. And he really didn’t like the way that Pepper was schmoozing up to Steve. Tony saw him first.

 

“Thank you, Ms. Potts,” Steve said, politely, shaking her hand. He smiled at her and Tony exhaled sharply; the man was too beautiful for his own good.

 

“Please, it’s Pepper,” she said, smiling at him, a soft blush forming on her cheeks.

 

“Are you _blushing_?” Tony said, astonished. “Like a schoolgirl.”

 

Lila and Pepper continued to ignore him, but Tony caught Steve looking at Pepper, a blush forming on his cheeks, too.

 

“Your work is so—“

 

“Why didn’t you stop me from insulting your work!” Tony nearly shouted, trying to get back Steve’s attention.

 

All three of them stared at him.

 

“You insulted his work?” Pepper said, her lips pursing into a thin line. “Tony! What were you – why would you do that?”

 

Tony shrugged carelessly. “I absolutely do not know.”

 

Steve sighed, exchanging a look with Lila. “Ms. Potts – Pepper – it’s fine. I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding.”

 

“Steve, Pepper was just telling me that _Stark Industries_ wanted to purchase the ‘Queer Brooklyn’ series,” Lila said, turning her back on Tony and nearly nudging him out of the way.

 

“I don’t know…” Steve murmured, eyeing Tony for a moment before turning his attention to Pepper.

 

“ _The Maria Stark Foundation_ recently started a new outreach program to help LGBTQ teens in need of shelter and support. Last year, we created 15 safe havens across the U.S. and we’re funded to create at least 100 safe havens over the course of the next five years. You’ve been a strong community advocate and we wanted to showcase your work in the lobby of the Foundation’s offices to support local artists who made significant contributions to our communities,” Pepper said, stepping closer to him and putting her slim hand on Steve’s arm. “It would really mean a lot to me if you’d consider the sale.”

 

Tony turned to look at the series of paintings again, recognizing the rainbow color scheme now. Each painting of the Brooklyn cityscape showed the changes over the decades, the buildings that rose and fell, with the Brooklyn Bridge a constant figure in the background.

 

“ _’Empires inevitably fall, and when they do, history judges them for the legacies they leave behind_ ,’” Tony murmured, turning to look up at Steve. “That’s what you painted, isn’t it? The history of the changing city, the changing times, but Brooklyn is always standing.”   

 

Steve blinked and nodded slowly. Even Lila and Pepper looked impressed.

 

Tony wanted to say that he wasn’t stupid; he was just an asshole sometimes.  

 

“My mother was a woman ahead of her time; her legacy is more important to me than my own,” Tony said, pulling off his purple sunglasses and giving Steve a small smile. “ _The Maria Stark Foundation_ would be very proud to show your work, Steve, if you’d allow it.”

 

Steve gave him a long look, seemingly trying to gauge what Tony was up to. He let out a soft sigh, a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips. “On one condition.”

 

“Name it,” Pepper said, turning to give Tony a sharp look, one that said, ‘you better agree to anything Steve wants or else.’

 

“That Mr. Stark has lunch with me tomorrow so I can thoroughly educate him on modern, abstract art,” Steve said, meeting Tony’s eyes with a challenging look. “Mixed media art is rather genius in its own right. I think it requires deeper study and contemplation. Maybe Mr. Stark will have to start his own art journal in order to completely understand the philosophy behind it.”

 

Tony chuckled, sliding his sunglasses back on. “I’ll agree to that with one condition of my own.”

 

Pepper gave him a warning glare. “Tony…”

 

“That you drop this ‘Mr. Stark’ bullshit and call me Tony.”

 

“Done,” Steve said, a smile on his face. _“Tony.”_

 

“Steve,” Tony murmured, winking at him.

 

“Noon tomorrow; Cataldo’s in Brooklyn.”

 

Tony sighed. “Brooklyn, huh? God, you’re going to take me to some mom and pop place, aren’t you?”

 

“That’s the condition of the sale,” Steve said, smiling.

 

“Done,” Tony said, holding out his hand.

 

Steve shook it; and while the grip was firm, it wasn’t as painfully tight.

 

Tony could see Lila and Pepper already conspiring, their beautiful heads close together as they hammered out the particulars of the sale. There was no doubt that Pepper could handle it and Tony walked to the center of the private space, looking at all four of the paintings as a set piece instead of as individual canvasses.

 

Steve watched him and then walked towards him. “Did you just say that because you wanted to buy the paintings or did you really understand my work?”

 

Tony took a deep breath and gave Steve a small grin. “Honestly, I think it was probably both.” He caught Steve’s surprised look. “But you were right; I didn’t get it at first. Not until I gave it a second look.”

 

“Well,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Thank you for your honesty.”

 

“It’s kind of genius,” Tony said, truthfully. “It’s a simple message, but there’s genius in simplicity.”

 

“Hmmm.”

 

“Still, can I make just one critical comment?”

 

“Go ahead, Tony.”

 

Tony cracked a smirk. “Tell me the truth, you could’ve done a better job with the titles, right? I mean, ‘ _First Year_ ,’ ‘ _Second Year_ ,’ come on, Steve. Were you reading ‘ _Harry Potter’_ when you gave your paintings those titles?”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re an _asshole_ , Tony.”

 

Tony threw back his head and laughed.


	16. A Little Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: After returning home on medical discharge, Bucky deals with the loss of his left arm and PTSD through writing. Five years later, who knew that he’d become a popular romance novelist.
> 
> Pairing: Bucky/Pre-serum!Steve (not explicit); Pepper/Tony (married)
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Brief description of graphic gore/war violence; PTSD flashback; panic attack
> 
> Note: Romance novelist trope. So terribly self-indulgent but I don’t care! I just wanted to write a little romance. Hehe!

**_Brooklyn, New York_ **

**_January 7, Thursday_ **

 

Bucky poured the water into the old-fashioned coffee brewer and set up the rest of his morning coffee routine. He was able to do it now without making a mess all over his kitchen counter and floor, spilling coffee grounds and splashing water all over the place. 

 

The Roomba 6000, a gift from Pepper and Tony, and affectionately nicknamed Dummy, whirled into the kitchen and circled around him before heading back out to the living room. 

 

“I’m getting better about not getting it all on the floor, Dummy, better luck next time,” Bucky said to the Roomba. “And I’m talking to the Roomba again.” 

 

One of these days, if the Roomba started talking back, Bucky was seriously going to go back to his counseling sessions. 

 

The hairs on the back of his neck rose when he heard the sound of a key jiggling in the lock to the front door. Bucky counted his heartbeats, eyeing the knives in the knife block. He knew that only one other person had the key to his home, but years of battlefield conditioning didn’t fade away so quickly or easily just because he was a civilian now. 

 

“Buck! I’m here!” Steve called, closing the door and thumping noisily down the narrow hallway. 

 

He let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, the tension easing from his shoulders. How did a little guy like Steve Rogers make all that noise? He was probably wearing his thrift store combat boots again. 

 

“Kitchen! You want coffee?” Bucky called back, getting what he had designated as Steve’s coffee mug from the cabinet. 

 

“Yes, please!” Steve hollered back, tossing his messenger bag on the floor and stomping towards the desk in the living room where Bucky’s computer and manuscript pages were waiting for him. “How many pages did you get done?” 

 

“Just eighteen pages,” Bucky said, holding out his right hand and clenching it into a tight fist and then relaxing his fingers. “Got a hand cramp.” 

 

Steve walked into the kitchen, a concerned look on his small, narrow face. “Are you going to your physical therapy appointments?” 

 

“Yes, ma,” he said, giving Steve a small smile and waving the stump of his left arm. “Every Tuesday morning.” 

 

“Jerk,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “Why don’t you just get one of those one-hand keyboards? It’ll save you a lot of time from having to handwrite all of your novels.” 

 

Bucky shrugged and made a face. “I thought about it, but I think I like the act of writing. It helps me work the story out when it’s on paper.” He grinned, meeting Steve’s eyes. “Besides, then you’d be out of a job. What’s a little punk like you going to do to pay for grad school?” 

 

“You don’t pay me  **that** much, Bucky,” he said, giving him the hairy eyeball. “Besides, this is my last semester, so I’m going to have to go out and find a new job anyway.” 

 

And that made it real for Bucky. In the next month or so, Steve wouldn’t have a reason to come over to Bucky’s place twice a week. He would sorely miss Steve’s company; and he couldn’t figure out any other way to keep Steve from leaving. 

 

Steve nudged Bucky out of the way to check the coffee machine and peered inside the two mugs, determining which one was his and which one was Bucky’s. They both took it without cream, but Bucky liked his coffee with sugar. 

 

Steve poured out the coffee evenly into the mugs and carried both mugs out to the living room, setting one on the coffee table for Bucky and taking his to the desk. Bucky followed and sat down on the couch, grabbing the remote and turning it on ESPN. 

 

“So did you figure out how you were going to get Princess Alaina away from the kidnappers? Is the Duke going to rescue her?” Steve said, picking up the loose leaf lined sheets, squinting at Bucky’s chicken scratch handwriting. 

 

Bucky snorted. “Princess Alaina is going to rescue herself; she doesn’t need a man getting her away from the kidnappers. They’re all a bunch of idiots for underestimating her.” 

 

“Good,” Steve said, approvingly. He booted up the desktop Mac and pulled up the chapter files to Bucky’s newest romance novel-in-progress,  _ Satin Nights in Arabia _ . 

 

The steady sound of Steve’s fingers tapping on the keyboard lulled Bucky into his comfort zone. He glanced over at Steve to see him smiling as he typed; he must be working on the part where Princess Alaina was telling Faisal that she could take care of herself and for him to back off. After Pepper read the outline and the initial first three chapters, she declared it her favorite of all of his novels and couldn’t wait to read the rest. 

 

Unbeknownst to his readers, Bucky was the author of 16 romance novels published under his pen name B. Buchanan. After returning home with a Purple Heart pinned to his chest and a medical discharge, Bucky spent months lost in a civilian life he didn’t understand and couldn’t reconnect with; his therapist suggested that Bucky “write his feelings” which turned into Bucky writing about a romance between a stalwart Army Sergeant and a fiery British spy having loved, lost, and found each other again in the middle of war torn Europe during the Second World War. 

 

It turned out that his group therapy leader, Sam, was friends with a literary agent named Pepper, who was married to publishing mogul Tony. Sam had slipped Bucky’s handwritten notebook to Pepper, and two days later, Pepper was knocking on Bucky’s door with a heavily edited, typed manuscript bundled in her hands. 

 

_ On the Wings of Love and War _ became an instant bestseller and that was the birth of B. Buchanan was and the launch of a five-year long writing career in contemporary romance novels where the heroines were empowered, kickass women who took lovers and partners because they chose who and what they wanted. His novels rose in popularity and B. Buchanan became known as “a romance novelist whose heroines weren’t the usual damsels in distress, often saving themselves and sometimes even rescuing the men who came to save them.” 

 

Bucky and Steve spent the next hour in companionable silence, the sports commentator on television filling the silence. Bucky watched as Steve diligently typed the pages, pausing now and then to mark up and edit the sheets, the pen cap tucked between his front teeth. 

 

The soft whir of the printer pulled Bucky’s attention from the television and he watched as Steve looked at the latest pages, his green pen twirling between his fingers as he made his final edits and comments. He paperclipped the latest pages and set them near the growing pile of typed manuscript pages for Bucky to read later. 

 

Steve let out a soft groan and got off the chair, stretching his arms over his head and bending down low to touch his nose to his knees. Bucky watched in delighted interest as the slender young man stretched out his lean limbs. 

 

He didn’t want to be a total creep because Steve was, well, Bucky’s employee, even though it was Stark Publishing that actually paid the temp agency where Steve worked, and Bucky didn’t want to be that kind of asshole that came on to someone who was technically working for him. 

 

Steve groaned again, stretching out his back. 

 

_ Jesus flipping mother. _ ..Bucky sighed, internally, keeping his face neutral. Part of him wondered if Steve did it just to tease him. Realistically, Bucky knew better than to think that. Steve wasn’t the type of man to play coy or play games. He was straight-forward honest, for good and bad, and people always knew where they stood with Steve. 

 

Still, Steve was gorgeous and smart and sassy and sexy. Bucky could imagine wrapping his hands around Steve’s slender waist, feeling the lean muscles under the soft skin of his back, and winding his hand into Steve’s blond hair to hold him still while he kissed that sharp, plump mouth... _ shit _ , Bucky liked him far too much for it to be considered professional. 

 

He looked away before Steve caught him staring inappropriately, facing the television screen. 

 

“The latest pages were real good, Bucky,” Steve said, collapsing on the couch near Bucky, his knee pressing against Bucky’s thigh. “I like Princess Alaina a lot, she’s earthy and smart and doesn’t take anybody’s bullcrap; and the Duke is a good guy who really gets her but he’s not a doormat about it.” 

 

Bucky grinned. “But…” 

 

“But I’m kind of in love with Prince Faisal,” Steve said, sitting up and looking quite torn. “He’s charming and literate and hilarious! And he’s such a flirt. And I love that he’s modern and progressive; that he’s trying to create a better world for his people and…and it’s making me wonder if Princess Alaina shouldn’t choose him over the Duke.” 

 

“Why can’t she have both?” 

 

Steve brightened, eyes widening. “Is that how the story is going to end? She’s going to keep both of them? Your readers would probably love that!” 

 

“Maybe…but I think most of my readers really do want the happily ever after ending. And the Duke is going to do right by her, so I think it’ll work out,” he said, chuckling softly at Steve’s enthusiasm. “Besides, it’s good for the Duke to know that Faisal is there, flirting and charming Alaina; it’ll keep the Duke on his toes so he doesn’t take her for granted.” He frowned, thinking about that for a moment. “Not that that should be the reason why he doesn’t take her for granted. She chose the Duke and that’s reason enough.”  

 

“Okay, but promise me that you’ll write a story where Prince Faisal gets his happily ever after, too. I swear, your readers will want to see a story with Prince Faisal in it.” 

 

“All right,” he said, grinning widely. “How’s your thesis coming along?” 

 

“It’s fine, but god, I hate regurgitating someone else’s ideas.” 

 

“Are you making progress on your paper?” 

 

Steve gave a half shrug. “Progress enough. I figure, I just have a few more chapters to draft and then the conclusion. I just want this done and then do my thesis defense and graduate.” 

 

“Academic burnout?” 

 

“Yeah,” he said, falling back against the couch, looking sleepy and cute with his long bangs falling into his blue eyes. “I need to get to the library and finish my research, but as you can see, I’m not all that motivated.” 

 

Bucky chuckled. “You can stay for lunch if you’d like. I was going to order a pizza.” 

 

“Yeah?” 

 

“And if you want to stay here and study, that’s okay with me. I was just going to do some writing and then I have a Skype meeting with Pepper later in the afternoon.” 

 

Steve sat up and smiled. “Yeah? You really don’t mind?” 

 

“I don’t mind,” he said, softly. “I could…use the company, to be honest.” 

 

He glanced at Steve to check his reaction, but he didn’t look like he felt any pity or obligation to Bucky. And Bucky appreciated that; Steve was one of the few people who didn’t try to baby Bucky or pity him for the loss of his arm. 

 

Steve reached out and squeezed Bucky’s shoulder, thumb brushing Bucky’s neck. “All right, Buck, sounds like a plan.” 

 

*** 

 

**_January 11, Monday_ **

 

“Hey, Buck, did we run out of printer paper?” 

 

“Check the bottom drawer, I think I have one ream in there,” Bucky said, jogging lightly on the treadmill on the other side of the living room. 

 

Steve tugged open the bottom drawer. “Got it! Want me to put in an order for another box of paper?” 

 

“Yeah, please, that’ll be great,” he said, slowing down to a cool down pace, getting his heartbeat back down to a normal range. After ten more minutes, Bucky hit the stop button and carefully stepped off the slowing treadmill. “I’m going to shower, be right back.” 

 

“Sure, sure,” Steve said, distractedly, kicking the drawer closed with his foot and looking at the computer screen. 

 

Bucky went upstairs and to his bedroom, quickly stripping out of his sweaty workout clothes. He preferred wearing loose clothes that he didn’t have to fuss with buttons or ties or anything that he couldn’t easily do one-handed. His therapist and his friends wanted him to look at getting a prosthetic, but there was a part of Bucky who thought that he’d feel self-conscious with a prosthetic. 

 

Early in his writing career when his popularity was just taking off, Pepper and Tony offered to ensure that Bucky received the best biomecha technology that was out there. If the loss of his left arm was keeping him from making public appearances to promote his books or meeting his fans, they wanted to make sure that he was taken care of. But that wasn’t the reason why Bucky preferred to stay out of the limelight. 

 

It was because he was writing in a genre mostly for women, usually contributed by women. He didn’t want to seem like he was imposing himself onto a community. Maybe women would feel weird to read a romance novel written by a one-armed man? Pepper and Tony didn’t believe so, but Bucky was too shy to reveal his identity publicly. 

 

He finished his shower quickly and pulled on clean clothes, jogging down the stairs to the living room. Steve was buckling his messenger bag, pulling the strap over his head as he hurried across the room to the front hall. 

 

“Gotta run, Bucky!” Steve called, clomping his booted feet across the wooden floor. 

 

“Hey, is everything okay?” Bucky said, frowning in concern. 

 

“Yep, everything’s fine. Just got an appointment I forgot about. See you on Thursday!” 

 

And Steve pulled the door closed behind as he flew out of Bucky’s townhouse. He leaned against the wall, completely puzzled, and shook his head as Dummy whirred past him. 

 

“Well, Dummy, what was that all about, huh?” 

 

The Roomba circled around his feet. 

 

“I really need to stop talking to the Roomba. Maybe I should get a dog.” He considered it for a moment and realized that he wasn’t capable of taking care of a dog. “Because talking to a dog is any better than talking to the Roomba.” He snorted. “Maybe I need to make more friends.” 

 

*** 

 

Bucky was trying to work out the last love scene in  _ Satin Nights _ when his cellphone buzzed on the coffee table. He picked it up to see that it was Pepper. 

 

“Hey, Pep, what’s going on?” 

 

“Oh, James! You have to come for dinner tomorrow night. I have to talk to you about your latest novel,” she said, excitedly. 

 

He chuckled. “Alright, sure. What time?” 

 

“We’ll ask Happy to pick you up, around six,” she said, letting out a deep breath. “James…I knew you had it in you. I mean, I’ve always believed in your talent, but the latest novel is…it’s going to be a noted work. It’s going to have its place as a piece of American literature. I’m so proud of you.” 

 

“Uh, okay?” He said, chuckling again. “Well, I’m glad you liked it.” 

 

Steve must’ve e-mailed Pepper the newest chapters. He thought maybe Pepper was going a little overboard with her compliments, but he appreciated her support. 

 

“See you tomorrow night,” she said, wistfully. In fact, it sounded like she was fighting tears. Good lord, which chapters did Steve send her? 

 

He ended the call and dropped the phone on the couch cushion beside him, picking up his pencil and tapping the pencil tip gently against the paper. Princess Alaina would want to be on top. She and the Duke would enjoy that. He’d worship her; want her to love every moment of being with him. For just a moment, he contemplated including Prince Faisal into the scene; give both Alaina and the Duke a night they wouldn’t forget. Steve was right, there was no doubt that his readers would love it, but the romantic in him wanted Alaina and the Duke to have their perfect happy ending.  

 

*** 

 

**_Stark Manor_ **

**_January 12, Tuesday_ **

 

Pepper Potts and Tony Stark lived in one of the biggest private homes in Manhattan. The Upper East Side mansion took up an entire city block. Happy, their driver, pulled into the private driveway behind the house and Bucky thanked him as he got out, walking to the front door. 

 

It was kind of creepy that their private security and house staff were expecting him; that as soon as he reached the front door, it opened and Bucky was greeted warmly by Jarvis, longtime Stark family butler but was probably more like the family  _ consigliere _ . 

 

“Good evening, sir.” 

 

“Good evening, Jarvis,” he said, shaking the older man’s hand. “It’s good to see you again.” 

 

“It is a pleasure to have you back at Stark Manor, Sergeant Barnes.” 

 

Bucky’s lips curled into a sardonic smile. “You’re just never going to call me Bucky, are you?” 

 

Jarvis closed the door and smiled, gesturing with his hand for Bucky to follow him. “It would go against my English sensibilities, sir.” 

 

Bucky followed him to what was probably considered a den in a normal home, but when the house was the size of a city, the room probably had some kind of fancy name, like with the word “grand” attached to it.  _ The Grand Den. The Grand Ballroom. The Grand Front Room. The Grand Solarium. The Grand Library. _ Bucky wondered if they wouldn’t mind if he described their home as a fictionalized setting for his next romance novel. It could be the perfect setting for Prince Faisal’s New York residence. 

 

Bucky liked the idea of setting the story in New York, maybe his next heroine would be a hard-working, streetsmart woman from one of the other boroughs, a modern day Cinderella story but without the Prince coming to the rescue. Maybe she would rescue Prince Faisal instead. From a gang of bullying thugs. Using a shock stick; because why wouldn’t a streetsmart, hard-working young woman carry tactical urban defense? And would a woman own and use such a thing even if it was a Class A misdemeanor in New York? Bucky thought, yes, yes she _ fucking _ would, if she lived in a tough neighborhood. She should have every right to own a defensive weapon, even if it was illegal. Maybe the only “rescuing” that Prince Faisal would do is give her access to his legion of international lawyers when she’s arrested. 

 

He could picture the scene: She would be in holding and Prince Faisal would come in, demand to see her, surrounded by his entire private security staff, and a dozen shark-like lawyers backing him up. The woman would look up, take one look at the scene, and roll her eyes. 

 

When Prince Faisal’s usual charm and flirtatiousness didn’t work on a woman, what would he do? Show her who he really was; be open and vulnerable with her. 

 

Bucky thought he might have his next love story. 

 

He followed Jarvis dreamily through the house to the large, comfortable room. It was predictably decorated with bookcases and tapestries and priceless artwork on the walls. There were two sitting areas, a black grand piano, and oddly, a large gold birdcage with a gigantic plush bunny inside.  _ Rich people were really weird.  _ Bucky grinned, looking at his two friends. It was obvious that Tony was in flirt mode, leaning close to his wife, whispering something in her ear to make her laugh. They were both dressed casually in jeans and shirts; Tony’s bare feet on the plush carpet looked oddly vulnerable while Pepper wore embroidered velvet slippers. Tony was sliding his fingers down Pepper’s long neck and moving in for a kiss. 

 

Jarvis cleared his throat discreetly and Bucky smirked at them, raising his eyebrow. 

 

“James,” Pepper called, getting up from the couch and heading straight for him, pulling him into a warm hug. “Oh James, I’m so glad you’re here.” 

 

“Good to see you, too, Pepper,” he said, reaching up to pat her back gently with his right hand. 

 

“Buckster,” Tony said, holding a bottle of water in his hand. They shook hands; Bucky always wondered why a man like Tony Stark, a billionaire publisher, had such calloused hands. There was no doubt that the older man pampered himself, but yet his hands belonged to a man who worked rough. Bucky knew enough about Tony Stark to understand that there was a man of substance underneath the glitz and glamour; besides, Pepper wasn’t the kind of woman to put up with any kind of nonsense. 

 

“Dinner will be in twenty minutes,” Jarvis said, pleasantly. 

 

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Pepper said, nodding her head to him, who then discreetly disappeared from the room.

 

“Drink?” Tony offered, walking to the far wall with the bar. 

 

“Just some soda, please,” he said, letting Pepper take his right arm to tug him gently to the sitting area. “Okay, so what’s this all about? You don’t usually gush over my romance novels like this.” 

 

“Romance novel?” She said, quizzically. 

 

“ _ Satin Nights in Arabia _ ,” he said, sitting down on the couch and nodding his thanks to Tony who handed him a glass of soda. “Didn’t Steve send you the latest chapters?” 

 

“No? I mean, yes! Yes, I’m sure your newest romance novel is going to hit the New York Best Seller’s list again,” she said, looking at him oddly. “I’m talking about your new manuscript,  _ The Winter Soldier _ .” 

 

Bucky froze, his hand tightening on the glass. “How…how do you know about that? I—I didn’t…” He dropped the glass and scrambled to his feet, shaking his head. His back and neck muscles tightened, as if someone had pour freezing cold water on him. Nights in the desert were so cold; Bucky hated being cold. “No one…no one’s supposed to know…how did…” 

 

_ …and there was the unbearable heat of pain, the muzzle flash around him looking like firecrackers going off in the desert night; he could see that his left arm wasn’t completely blown off, hanging together with bits of bloody muscles and tendons. Drenched down his left side, his blood was clammy and smelled like old rust. He reached into his boot and pulled out his combat blade, screaming as he sliced through the bloody stump to free himself. He pulled off his belt and wrapped his upper arm with it, pulling as tight as he could to staunch the bleeding, biting his bottom lip as he tried to muffle his scream. His men were down and the entire convoy was blown to hell, bullets piercing the sand all around him. He crawled behind the overturned vehicles, checking on his fallen men, checking for life. He grabbed one by the neck of his jacket, dragging him to safety; he needed to radio his location in and get air support. He needed to save his men— _

 

“Whoa, hey, Bucky,” Tony said, soothingly, holding Pepper back and moving slowly towards Bucky, his hands held out to sides. “Just breathe, Bucky, just breathe. Hey, why don’t you have a seat here and Pepper will get you some water and I’ll help you breathe.” 

 

Bucky nodded, trying to catch his breath, falling into a plush armchair. Tony knelt beside him, his hands curled over the armchair arm, breathing in and out steadily, keeping his eyes on Bucky. 

 

“Doing good, Buckaroo, doing good,” Tony said, giving him a small smile. 

 

“Sorry,” he said, catching his breath. “Sorry…spilling soda…carpet.” 

 

Tony chuckled, good-naturedly. “Nothing to worry about, kiddo. Are you breathing? Keep it slow and steady.” 

 

“Oh, James, I’m so sorry,” Pepper said, handing the bottle of water to Tony. She kept her distance, not wanting Bucky to feel closed in during his panic attack. 

 

He shook his head, trying to give her a smile. “Not…not your fault. Just…caught me by surprise.” 

 

“That’s putting it mildly,” Tony said, cracking open the top and handing him the bottle. “Drink some water. I think you’re doing better now.” 

 

He took a sip of water, the coolness of it helping him settle back into the present. “Shit. I hadn’t…I hadn’t had a flashback like that in a long time.” 

 

Pepper sat down on the edge of the couch, a worried look on her face. “I’m so sorry for triggering you.” 

 

“You didn’t know,” he said, as reassuringly as he could. He drank more of the water and took a deep, settling breath. “Jesus, I’m sorry for ruining everything. Maybe I should go.” 

 

Tony shook his head. “You didn’t ruin anything, Buck. Anna made your favorites, you couldn’t possibly leave. She made extra so that you could take some home with you.” 

 

Bucky positively drooled at the idea of Anna’s cooking. She was a genius in the kitchen; Jarvis was a lucky man.  

 

“Okay,” he said, nodding his head. “Okay, I’m okay now. I wouldn’t want to be rude and leave without having dinner.” 

 

*** 

 

**_January 14, Thursday_ **

 

Bucky was pissed. 

 

He clenched his fist, watching the coffee maker gurgle. The rich aroma of the coffee hit his senses, and normally it would ground him, but he was too pissed off to focus. 

 

Right on schedule, he heard Steve putting the key in the lock and jiggling the doorknob. The familiar sound of Steve clumping his way down the hall and his usual greeting of “it’s me!” warmed Bucky’s heart, but he was still so fucking pissed. 

 

“In here,” he said, brusquely. 

 

Steve’s steps slowed as he walked into the kitchen, his handsome face already drawn with guilt. “Hey, Buck.” 

 

“Why did you do it? That was private. It wasn’t any of your business,” Bucky said, his voice hoarse. “No one was ever supposed to see it.” 

 

“Because it was so good, Bucky,” Steve said, earnestly. “Better than your romance novels, better than anything that’s been published. It deserves to be read; people need to read your story. It was...it’s an incredible story.” 

 

“But it was mine. It was private!” 

 

“I’m sorry I went behind your back like that,” Steve said, stepping closer and raising his blue eyes up at Bucky, meeting his gaze without fear. “But I’m not sorry that I gave it to Pepper.” 

 

“That wasn’t your decision to make, Steve. You don’t make those kinds of decisions for me.” 

 

He nodded. “I know. But I had to do it and I stand by it. It was the right thing to do.” 

 

_ God, this little punk, with his “right thing to do” bullshit.  _

 

“Leave your key and get out, Steve,” Bucky said, his hand shaking against his leg. “Just go. I’ll make sure that you get your payout to the agency--” 

 

“Bucky--”

 

“No. Just go, Steve! Just go!” 

 

Bucky turned away and faced the coffee brewer, taking the cowardly way out. If he turned to look at Steve, he was pretty sure that he’d beg Steve to stay. He heard Steve taking off the key from his key ring and gently placed it on the counter near Bucky. 

 

“I’m sorry, Bucky.” 

 

He took a deep breath, trying to settle his anger. It had been a long time since he’d gotten so angry over anything. 

 

“I get that you’re angry at me, but I want you to know that you’ve written something powerful, something that should be shared. I’ve loved all of your books, Bucky, and you’ll always have my support.” Steve stepped closer to Bucky, his voice low and soft. “I know I betrayed your trust. I really believed I was doing the right thing for you, but I can see that I wasn’t thinking about why you wouldn’t want anyone to read your story. Because I know that that’s you, in that story. So I’m sorry for that. Maybe one day you’ll understand and will forgive me. But no matter what, if you ever need me, I’ll be here.” 

 

Bucky’s throat tightened and he couldn’t say anything. He heard Steve make a soft sniffle, then the heavyweight of Steve’s boots thumping across the wooden flooring, the sound of him opening and then gently, but firmly, closing the door behind him. 

 

He stared at Steve’s key, trying to process -- just trying to process everything. His feelings for Steve, his feelings about  _ The Winter Soldier _ seeing the light of day, and his feelings about his hermit-like life, hidden away in a dark corner, still afraid to come out to touch the light. Because that’s what Steve was, he lived in the light and he wanted Bucky to be there with him. 

 

Bucky pulled out his phone from his pocket and flicked through his contacts. He pressed his thumb on the number and placed the phone against his ear, waiting for it to connect. 

 

“Hey, Pepper, it’s me. Can you come over? I...I want to talk about my...my manuscript. About  _ The Winter Soldier. _ ” 

 

*** 

 

**FOUR MONTHS LATER**

**_May 13, Friday_ **

 

“It’s hot off the presses,” Pepper said, sliding the hardcover book towards him. 

 

Bucky stared at the cover of the publisher’s first run copy of  _ The Winter Soldier: The Long Road Home  _ by James Buchanan Barnes.  

 

He remembered the long, late night fights he had over which image to use for the cover. He didn’t want it to be his picture while Pepper argued that it would put a face on his experiences; and then Tony had contacted a few of his old buddies from his unit, asking for any pictures of Bucky, and they had all reached out to Bucky to ask for his permission. 

 

For a long time, Bucky didn’t know what to say. He was so happy to get back in touch with the men from his old unit; he was emotional when they came to visit him. All of them knew what they had lost that night and what Bucky did to save their lives. It was that reunion with his friends and finding out that they had gotten home safely and had good lives, some even had children ( _ “Jesus, DumDum, you fucking procreated, god help us all” _ ), and that life was for living, that finally brought Bucky back from hiding on the sidelines of his own life. 

 

_ “You’re a smug little fucker,” Bucky said to Tony, handing over a few of the pictures that his men had taken of him, fully armed and geared up in his desert tactical uniform, sitting on the hood of his humvee with a faraway smile on his face. That was the last time Bucky would have both of his arms.  _

 

_ “You’re a handsome asshole,” Tony said, clapping him on his back.  _

 

“This is really incredible,” Bucky said, tracing his hand over the cover, lingering on his name. His real name on a book. “Thank you.” 

 

“Well, look at you,” Tony murmured, affectionately. Bucky rolled his eyes and turned to say something insulting to Tony, but ended up laughing when he saw that Tony had gotten distracted by Dummy and was tinkering with the Roomba in the living room.

 

“And the interview went live this morning,” Pepper told him, a proud smile on her lovely face as she slid her tablet towards him, showing him the homepage to the  _ Publisher’s Weekly _ website. 

 

A month ago, when they had contacted him wanting to write an article about the new book, Bucky wanted to say no. But he realized that he would be doing himself a disservice if he continued to hide in the dark. After that mess with Steve, Bucky had returned to group therapy and it was Sam who gave him a small push to face his fears and to take the first step in reconnecting with his life. Seeing his men alive and whole helped him take the next step. And allowing everyone to see him, scars and all, got him to the next step. 

 

The photographer and the writer had come to his townhouse and took a few photos of him in the comfort of his home. He hadn’t worn a long sleeve shirt, going with his favorite  _ The Matrix _ tee-shirt, showing the stump of his left arm, a wry smile on his face. 

 

That was the picture he was looking at now on the tablet. He took a deep breath and tapped the link to the interview. He winced, bracing himself for whatever the writer had written about him, about his new book, and about his no-longer-secret writing career as B. Buchanan, romance novelist. But the interview was fair and it was definitely in his favor. He let out a breath of relief and looked up at Pepper. 

 

“I want the new book to do well, but...do you think this is going to hurt my other books?” 

 

Pepper gave him a fond smile. “Your fans love you even more, knowing who you really are now, Bucky. I don’t think you’ll have a problem with selling your next romance novel.” 

 

Bucky grinned. “Good, because, I actually kind of love writing them.” 

 

Pepper reached out and held his hand. “Good. That’s settled then.” She collected her tablet but tapped the book cover with her hand. “You know, Steve is doing his thesis defense next Wednesday at NYU. It’s open forum. You should give him this and let him read the dedication page.” 

 

“You didn’t…” 

 

“Oh, I did,” she said, unapologetically. 

 

Bucky groaned, shaking his head. “You and Stark are both a pair of nosy busybodies!” 

 

Pepper laughed in his face, giving him a smirk. “Tony, darling, let’s go,” she called, chuckling softly as she walked past Bucky. “Oh, Tony, for god’s sake!” 

 

“Uhhh…” Tony said, looking up guiltily, surrounded by parts of the Roomba. He held up a mini screwdriver and shook his head. “It’s a compulsion, Pepper, I didn’t mean to--” 

 

“You killed Dummy,” Bucky said, astonished. 

 

Tony began collecting the pieces around him, shoving them into his suit jacket pockets, pants pockets, every pocket he had available. “I’ll fix it. I swear, better than new, I promise!” 

 

Bucky sighed, shaking his head. “Just...bring him back in one piece and he better not start talking or anything like that.” 

 

“I’ll fix him!” Tony said, hurrying down the hallway to the front door. “Better than better than new!” 

 

Pepper stared fondly at her weird husband, then turned knowing eyes to stare at Bucky. “Next Wednesday at 2 PM.” She leaned close to him and kissed his cheek. “Don’t disappoint him.” 

 

He walked her to the front door and waved as Happy held the door as she stepped gracefully into the back of the limo. The back window rolled down and Tony stuck out his head. “I’ll fix him and bring him back!” 

 

Bucky rolled his eyes and snorted, waving his hand at them. He closed the door and walked back to the kitchen counter. He swallowed, reaching out with his hand to open the cover and the inside pages, reading the lines of the dedication page. 

 

*** 

 

**_New York University_ **

**_School of Arts and Sciences_ **

**_Seminar Room 4_ **

**_May 18, Wednesday_ **

 

Steven G. Rogers, Culture and Media, Connecting with Our Past to Inform Our Future, Candidate for Master of Arts. 

 

Bucky moved quietly into the seminar room, taking a seat in the back and ducking down low. He clutched the book in his hand, scanning the front rows for Steve. He smiled when Steve’s name was called, taking his place on the raised stage, moving the podium from the center to the side. He worked quickly and competently to set up his laptop, lowering the large projection screen over the massive whiteboards. 

 

The lights dimmed and Bucky gave a soft sigh of relief. He didn’t want to cause Steve any anxiety during his thesis defense and presentation. He knew how hard Steve had worked to get here and Bucky wanted to be here, if anything, than to just show Steve that he was damned proud of him. 

 

The hour long presentation was fascinating and Bucky couldn’t stop leaning forward, his attention completely captured by Steve and the images that he showed on the screen. When Steve finished, Bucky sank back down on his seat, and listened as the Thesis Committee spent the next hour asking Steve questions on his research, his data analysis, and his insights on his contribution to the field of knowledge. 

 

At the end, the few people in the seminar room applauded Steve, and Steve smiled, shakily, as he shook hands and thanked the Thesis Committee one by one. 

 

Bucky waited until Steve was alone and made his way down to the front of the room. Steve tucked his laptop into his messenger bag and slung the strap over his shoulder. He blinked, looking at Bucky, his eyes widening with surprise. 

 

“Bucky?” 

 

“Congratulations, Steve,” he said, smiling at him. “That was a fantastic presentation. They’d be a bunch of fools if they didn’t award you your degree.” 

 

Steve’s hand clutch his strap. “Thanks. Thanks, Bucky. It means a lot that you came.” 

 

“I’m glad I was able to be here,” he said, clearing his throat and feeling like an idiot. He held out the book to Steve. “I...I came to give you this. And to say thank you. And that I’m sorry.” 

 

“Ohmygod,” Steve murmured, taking the book and staring at the cover. He turned it over to the back to look at Bucky’s picture. It was one of the pictures that the photographer from Publisher’s Weekly took of him. “I’m...this is amazing, Bucky.” He turned it back to the front and opened the book to scan the inside flap. His smile was wide when he looked back up at Bucky. “I’m so proud, Bucky.” 

 

“It wouldn’t have happened without you,” he said, stepping closer and biting his lower lip. “Read the dedication page.” 

 

Steve turned the inside pages and stared at the words printed there: 

 

_ None of this would’ve happened without Steve Rogers.  _

_ It was a long road, but I’m ready to come home.  _

 

Bucky watched anxiously as Steve opened his mouth and inhaled deeply. He closed the book and stared at the cover for a long time. 

 

“You going to kiss me now, jerk?” Steve said, looking up through his long bangs, a light blush on his cheeks. “That’s what happens in all of your books, right? Happily ever after.” 

 

Bucky grinned, his heart feeling quite full. He licked his lips and stepped closer, his hand curling against Steve’s warm neck. “You been waiting long for yours, punk?” 

 

“Shut up and kiss me,” Steve said, reaching up to curl both of his arms behind Bucky’s neck and meeting him halfway for a long, warm kiss. It was nearly chaste, but Bucky could feel Steve trembling against him. 

 

Bucky knew that they had a lot to talk about; but it could wait. They had time. He held out his hand. 

 

“Let’s celebrate your thesis defense. Have dinner with me.” 

 

Steve chuckled, opening his messenger bag and shoving the book inside. He took Bucky’s hand and turned to look up at him, bright smile and pretty blue eyes warming Bucky all the way through. 

 

*** 

 

**EPILOGUE**

 

**_June 12, Sunday_ **

 

Bucky was curled up against Steve on the couch, working on a new chapter for his newest romance novel  _ Hard Knock Love _ featuring tough-as-nails ER nurse Jane and the return of Prince Faisal. Steve was right, his readers loved Prince Faisal and wanted him to have his happy ending, too. Jane wasn’t going to make it easy for him, but Bucky was kind of developing a small crush on her, much to Steve’s amusement. Of course, Bucky wasn’t going to tell Steve that he had modeled Jane’s crusading spirit and standing up to bullies on Steve. 

 

Steve had gotten a great job at  _ Stark Publishing _ as a community advocate for the encouraging young people to write about their community experiences and publishing a collection of stories geared for middle school and high school education markets. 

 

The quick  _ thud-thud-thud  _ against the front door nearly made Bucky bite through his tongue, but Steve’s steady hand on Bucky’s shoulder stopped him from jumping over the couch and going for the kitchen knives. 

 

“It’s Tony!” Tony hollered from the other side of the front door. 

 

“Jesus, that man is going to get shot one day,” Bucky groused as he got up to answer the door. “Stark! What the hell?” 

 

Tony’s smile was a bit wild as he pushed past Bucky, something huddled in his arms, and stalked into the rest of the house. “Bucky. Steve. Good, you’re both here. Look and be amazed.” 

 

He placed the Roomba on the door and turned it on. 

 

“Dummy?” Steve said, leaning over the couch, staring down at the Roomba. “You fixed him.” 

 

“Better than better than new,” Tony said, looking over at Bucky. “He responds to voice commands now  **and** I built in a low level AI learning system.” He waved his hand at Dummy. “Say something to him. Give him a command that you normally wouldn’t be able to give him.” 

 

Bucky blinked and shook his head. 

 

“Dummy, please check the bedroom floors,” Steve said, cocking his head slightly. 

 

“Acknowledged,” Dummy said, his soft mechanical voice sounding a little too much like Tony. They watched as the Roomba whirred and moved down the hall to the staircase. 

 

Bucky nearly fell when Dummy started to float, heading up the staircase to the second floor. “Fuck! Fucking fuck, Tony!” 

 

“I know! I programmed in hover technology as well,” Tony said, looking rather proud of himself. 

 

Bucky made a face. “What--who are you?” 

 

Tony smirked. “Happily married, billionaire publishing mogul, technology innovating genius!” 

 

“That’s kind of long on a business card, huh?” Steve said, chuckling. 

 

“Well, can’t stay, have to go tinker some more in my workshop before Pepper finds out what I did!” Tony blew them a kiss as he headed out of Bucky’s house. 

 

Bucky and Steve shared a look. 

 

“I’ll get the Roomba,” Steve said, getting off the couch. 

 

“I’ll call Pepper.” 

 

Steve grinned, moving up on his toes to kiss Bucky’s mouth. “Or you could just meet me upstairs.” 

 

“Disable the Roomba first,” Bucky said, kissing him back. 

 

“Five minutes?” 

 

“Five minutes.” 

 

**_And they lived happily ever after._ **

 

**_The end._ **

  
(No Roombas were harmed in this story)


	17. What a Billionaire Wants - Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: As Bucky and Tony’s relationship progresses, Steve feels left out.
> 
> Pairing: Tony/Bucky – Friendship to flirting to something more.
> 
> Author’s Note: I may be ignoring CACW for this timeline. I think this story fits in after CAWS where Bucky is in the Smithsonian. Let’s say that Steve and Sam have brought Bucky in from the cold.

[ ](http://s769.photobucket.com/user/house_of_lantis/media/billionaire_cover.png.html)

 

 

Part 1: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/3922327/chapters/12498614>

Part 2: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/3922327/chapters/15429034> 

Part 3: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/3922327/chapters/17775355#main>

 

 

**Stark Tower**

**_Tony’s Workshop_ **

 

Bucky stood in front of one of Tony’s holographic screens, looking at expanded view of Lola’s internal combustion.

 

“JARVIS, can you make a .002 calibration at this juncture here, please?” Bucky said, tapping his index finger on the crankshaft.

 

“Affirmative, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS intoned, recalibrating the crankshaft to Bucky’s new specification. “Congratulations, the mechanical energy output is now 4% more efficient.”

 

“That’s sexy,” Tony said, leaning his hip against the table, wiping his hands on a rag, giving Bucky a dark-eyed grin. “Nothing turns me on more than seeing someone competent at his work.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “That’s not what the tabloids say about you.”

 

Tony tossed the dirty rag at DUM-E and moved closer to Bucky. “Shows how much they don’t know me, Barnesy.”

 

“You flirting with me, Stark?”

 

“Maybe,” Tony murmured, slipping his fingers up along Bucky’s metal arm. “Want to take Lola out for a spin before you open her up again?”

 

“JARVIS, please save these changes to my server,” Bucky said, closing down his screens. He turned to face Tony, reaching up to run his metal thumb over Tony’s bottom lip. “We gonna make out at some lookout point? There used to be a good spot under the Bridge; heard they turned into a park now.”

 

Tony chuckled, biting gently down on Bucky’s thumb, the soft clink of teeth on metal making both of them smile. Bucky couldn’t actually feel Tony licking him, could only register the heat of Tony’s tongue against the mental, but the visual of seeing that little tongue flicking against his thumb was more than enough for Bucky to want more.

 

“I’ll take you anywhere you want if you want to make out.”

 

Steve cleared his throat.

 

Tony pulled away quickly. “Steve-a-roo, what brings you down to the workshop?”

 

Bucky grinned at Steve and stuck his thumb in his mouth, sliding his eyes to Tony as he sucked his thumb clean. Tony’s brown eyes widened and then narrowed at Bucky, which only caused Bucky to let out a soft laugh at Tony’s quickly changing expressions. It always surprised Bucky how little people truly understood Tony Stark; but then again, Tony was a master at keeping people at a distance.

 

“I…seem to be interrupting,” Steve said, looking from Bucky to Tony.

 

“Of course not, Cap—“

 

“Yep—“

 

Tony made a face at Bucky and Bucky just chuckled, hanging his thumbs from the belt loop of his jeans.

 

“Anyway, I was just going to take Barnes out for a test drive,” Tony said, hurrying through the workshop to the wall box with to get the car keys. “In the car, I mean. In Lola.”

 

Steve kept giving Bucky a strange look and Bucky raised his eyebrows at his best friend, trying to figure out what was Steve’s deal.

 

“Oh. If you’re busy, I’ll just…I’ll see you later, Buck.”

 

“Sure thing, Stevie,” he drawled back, completely puzzled by Steve.

 

“Okay, well, great! I’ll have Barnes back in a couple of hours,” Tony said, smiling manically.

 

Bucky frowned at the two of them.

 

Steve made a pained smile before leaving the workshop. Tony waited until Steve was out the door when he turned to Bucky, a mischievous glint in his brown eyes.

 

“Now, where were we?”

 

“You don’t suppose Steve’s not happy about the two of us seeing each other?”

 

Tony sighed and shrugged. “Growing pains; Cap’s just figuring out how to share you with me.”

 

Bucky curled his arms around himself. “Not worth the—“

 

“Stop,” Tony said, firmly. “I know what you’re going to say. You’re worth it, James. Steve would tear this world apart for you…and I’d be right by his side to help him do it. So you’re worth it to him, to us.” He gave Bucky a small smile. “Maybe you ought to spend some time with your best buddy. We can take Lola out another night.”

 

Bucky licked him lips and reached out with his hands to touch Tony, sliding his palms up his arms, tugging the other man closer to hold him. “Nah, we already have a date. Stevie knows that I’d never punk out after I already made a promise.” He met Tony’s pleased gaze. “Wanna go see about a bridge?”

 

***

 

**Brooklyn Bridge Park**

 

“We’re gonna get arrested.”

 

He had parked Lola on the corner of Old Fulton and Furman, the bridge sprawling across the East River to the right of them. The views of the bridge and Manhattan lit up were breathtakingly gorgeous, but Bucky was breathless for a host of other reasons. Tony leaned over the bucket seats, nearly sitting in Bucky’s lap as they kissed and kissed and kissed, like horny teenage boys furtively making out before they got caught with their pants down.

 

“Making out with you is my new favorite thing,” Tony murmured, making Bucky smile into their next kiss.

 

Tony kissed in a variety of pleasurable ways; from soft and chaste kisses to licking into Bucky’s mouth to wet and dirty to drool, dripping down Bucky’s chin. He welcomed them all, curling his hands around Tony’s back, stroking the muscles under the threadbare cotton tee-shirt.

 

“Want to go to second base?”

 

Bucky barked out a laugh, wiping his hand down his chin, looking at Tony. “What counts as second base these days?”

 

“Blowjob.”

 

Bucky half-heartedly protested as Tony reached for Bucky’s belt buckle, undoing it with a wide smile on his handsome face, sloe-eyed and beautiful and completely focused on Bucky.

 

“We don’t have any coverage here.”

 

“That’s half the fun,” Tony murmured, opening Bucky’s jeans and curling a warm and calloused hand around Bucky’s semi-hard cock. “Keep an eye out.”

 

And Tony ducked down, his mouth wet and gentle around the head, tongue working in a slow, teasing circle as Bucky felt his cock harden in Tony’s mouth.

 

“Fuck,” he whispered, his right hand sliding into Tony’s hair, rubbing his scalp gently as Tony sucked and licked and teased him.

 

It had been…a long time since Bucky felt this kind of pleasure. In the jagged parts of his memory, he remembered only flashes of moments of another time, pretty girls with red lips and warm mouths, and shared laughter full of affection.

 

But that was nothing compared to how Tony could take him apart and then put him back together. Bucky closed his eyes and bit back a groan, his metal hand hanging outside the driver side, whirring as he closed his hand into a tight fist.

 

“Yes, please,” Bucky said, moaning thickly. “Please, Tony, keep going, keep going, please, baby--“

 

Tony groaned around his mouthful, the vibrations kicking the pleasure into high gear as Bucky tried not to thrust his cock deeper into Tony’s mouth. He was certainly talented, generous with giving Bucky pleasure, and Bucky leaned his head back against the seat back, panting quickly, his right hand sliding down Tony’s back to clutch at the tee-shirt, fisting the fabric in his hand.

 

“Close, so close, please _ohhhh_ Tony,” Bucky drawled out at Tony’s hand joined his mouth, wrapped around Bucky’s cock in a tight grip, spit easing the friction as Tony bobbed quickly, mouth tight around the head as he sucked so hard and so good, and Bucky came with a whimper.

 

He shivered when Tony licked him clean, soft tongue gliding around the sensitive tip, as Bucky sank against the leather of his seat, hand releasing his grip on Tony’s shirt to rub soothing circles over Tony’s back. The cool air of the pre-dawn morning against his cock brought him out of his pleasure daze and he lifted his head to look at Tony, face flushed and lips plump. He pulled Tony against him and kissed his mouth, careful not to bite too hard, chasing the taste of his come against Tony’s tongue.

 

“Think you can drive us back?” Tony said, smiling at him.

 

“Yes,” Bucky said, meeting his eyes. “I wanna try second base in a bed this time.”

 

Tony choked on his laugh, falling back to his passenger seat, sprawled out against the leather, his hand curling over his groin. Bucky leaned over him and kissed him again, metal hand reaching between them to cup Tony’s hardness in his palm.

 

“Fuck, yes,” Tony mumbled against Bucky’s mouth, arching into Bucky’s touch.

 

***

 

**Stark Tower**

 

Bucky didn’t call it the walk of shame, leaving Tony’s bedroom and making his way to his floor.

 

They hadn’t gotten much sleep but enjoyed a few hours rolling around in Tony’s big bed, laughing and touching each other, and Bucky wondered aloud if Phil would allow him to overhaul Lola’s entire engine.

 

“If this is your pillow talk, it’s turning me on,” Tony said, slipping his fingers down Bucky’s inner thigh.

 

“Sir, I must warn you that you have a Board meeting this morning at 9 AM. Miss Potts has already alerted me to remind you,” JARVIS said, politely.

 

Tony rolled his eyes and groaned, falling back on the bed. “Christ.”

 

Bucky kissed him and then got out of bed, stretching luxuriously while looking down at Tony, sprawled on dark gray sheets looking like temptation. Tony’s eyes moved over Bucky’s naked body and he let out a long exhale.

 

“I should be done by lunch time,” Tony said, grinning up at him. “Want to make out then?”

 

“Sure,” he said, chuckling. He found his jeans and his shirt on the floor by the bed and slipped into his clothes with an efficient use of energy. “I’ll be in the workshop.”

 

He leaned down over Tony with his hands braced against the mattress, and kissed him again.

 

“It’s a date,” Tony said, winking at him.

 

“Come on, up and at ‘em,” Bucky said, giving Tony’s flank an affectionate tap with his metal hand. “Don’t keep Miss Potts waiting.”

 

“You keep that up and I’m not going to let you leave my bed.”

 

Bucky grinned, shy but pleased, and pressed a chaste kiss against Tony’s mouth. “See you later.”

 

He stepped off the elevator on the floor that he shared with Steve and walked into the living room.

 

“Morning, Buck,” Steve called, looking over at him from the kitchen counter.

 

“Hey, morning, Stevie,” he said, walking into the kitchen. “Got a cup of coffee for me?”

 

“Bagels, too, if you want them,” he said, getting up from the stool to fix Bucky a large mug of coffee.

 

Bucky reached for the bag of bagels and unrolled the top, almost tucking his face into the bag and inhaling deeply, the aroma of the fresh and still warm bagels making him drool a little in his mouth. Steve slid a clean plate across the counter and then set down the mug in front of Bucky.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Steve said, sitting across from him and smiling a little. “Did you and Tony have a nice time?”

 

Bucky took a big sip of coffee and flicked his eyes at Steve over the rim, a smile forming on his lips. “Yeah, Stevie, we had a good time.”

 

Steve raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know that you and Tony had gotten that close.”

 

He shrugged, breaking open a bagel and reaching for Steve’s knife and the cream cheese. He spread a generous amount on the bagel and looked at his best friend.

 

“It’s not a secret that I like him,” he said, taking a bite and chewing slowly.

 

“And I’m glad; I’m happy for you both, Bucky, don’t misunderstand,” he said, grinning slightly. “It’s just that…I haven’t seen you around and…you know what, it’s fine. I’m just being a stupid punk.”

 

“Hey,” Bucky said, swallowing quickly and reaching out with his right hand to curl around Steve’s wrist. “You’re my best pal; and, yeah, if I’ve been spending a lot of time with Tony, it’s because…it’s new for us and I want to spend time with him. But you’re my best pal and I should spend time with you, too.”

 

“I’d like that,” he said, smiling widely at Bucky now. “Tony’s my friend, too; I miss spending time with both of you.”

 

Bucky chuckled, a little from relief and a lot from happiness, and he nodded, taking a sip of coffee. “Yeah, Stevie, I’d like that a lot, too.”

 

“Good,” Steve said, nodding. “So what did you two get up to last night? Did you have a nice drive around the city?”

 

Bucky blushed, lips curled into a smile, and watched as Steve took in his expression and rolled his eyes.

 

“Keep whatever you’re thinking to yourself. I don’t need to know the details.”

 

They looked at each other for a long moment and then broke out into laughter. Bucky leaned his elbow on the counter and covered his mouth with his hand, laughing loudly. Steve’s gorgeous face broke out into a stupid looking smile, eyes tearing up from the force of his laughter.

 

 


End file.
